


Anthony

by caricari



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, Idiots in Love, Just two supernatural entities, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, New Relationship, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and getting it on, communication porn, having a super awkward conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caricari/pseuds/caricari
Summary: “I could be, you know,” Crowley spoke up, gently, breaking the contemplative silence of the room.“Hmm?” Aziraphale rubbed at a particularly stubborn fingerprint on the cover of his book, using the moment to distract himself from the sudden increase in the tempo of his heartbeat. “Could be what, dear boy?”“Your Anthony.”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 149
Kudos: 586
Collections: AJ’s personal faves, Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side, Top Aziraphale Recs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all. I’ve split the fic into two parts, so anyone who wants to can avoid the properly explicit bits by stopping at the end of chapter one. (Or skip the preamble and head straight for chapter two. You dirty sods). All/any feedback is appreciated! :) C.

.

Aziraphale tended towards pastoral roles, even in the personal aspects of his life. It was something of a habit, he supposed, from years in Heaven’s employ. Even now, after his long-term masters had severed ties, he found himself filling the same roles in the lives of the humans he knew and loved. 

He collected humans, see, just as he collected books. Every few decades, he picked up another little set of them and let them fill his life, (for as long as could be reasonably explained, without them noticing that he did not age, or sicken, or die). He let them thrive in the periphery of his existence until it was time to move on. Then he disappeared, miraculously without being missed. 

In the years that he had them, Aziraphale liked to bring his humans what little joys he could. It was frowned upon, to interfere with human lives on a personal level, so he always tried not to use his powers. Instead, he helped by investing his time (which, as a celestial being, he had rather a lot of). He lent a helping hand with life’s practicalities and a sympathetic ear, for its disappointments. He accompanied his human friends to their favourite places, and helped out with their work, or their art, and occasionally invited small groups of them over, for drinks and dinner. 

It had been one such gathering that the angel had been hosting, tonight; six humans, seated in a variety of hastily miracled armchairs in the back room of his bookshop, working their way through a few bottles of good port; discussing literature and cartography and a variety of other subjects between. 

The evening had been arranged for the benefit of one of the older humans in the group - a middle aged chap named Simon, whose recent divorce from his partner of twenty three years had left him feeling low. Having known the man for a decade, it was about time for Aziraphale to bow out of the human's life, but he wanted to make sure Simon would have some support, once he did. That was what the evening’s frivolities had been about. A bit of comfort. A bit of matchmaking. 

The whole event had gone rather swimmingly, actually. Aziraphale’s humans had got on like a house on fire and, by the end of the evening, numbers had been exchanged - a group outing to a local art gallery planned for next week. Simon would be well cared for, in time, Aziraphale was sure. His introductions usually played out well. 

Of course, it had not been only his magic at work, tonight. 

Much to the angel’s surprise - because he had invited Crowley along to his little soirees many times, before, and the demon had always declined - his friend turned up on his doorstep at half past six, on the dot, clutching a bottle of red and throwing a shrug in the face of Aziraphale’s clear bemusement. 

“Well you did invite me,” He grumbled, loitering on the threshold. “If you don’t want me here, though, just say and i'll bugger off. Plenty of other things I could be doing…” 

Aziraphale had shaken himself, at that, and managed to recover. Telling the demon not to be silly - that he had caught him by surprise but _of course_ he was welcome, nobody could be more welcome - he had bustled back inside to draw out another chair and the rest of the evening had passed in contented companionship. 

Crowley had been an enormous hit with the humans. Sprawled in the armchair nearest the door, the demon had cradled a glass of whiskey in one hand and maintained a look of cool disinterest all evening long - lifting it only to answer questions, or to help Aziraphale with another round of drinks, or contribute the occasional charming comment to the conversation. It was a well practiced act of mystery and it worked as well as it always did. Every single one of the angel’s mortal acquaintances sought the angel out, during the evening, to comment on how clever his Anthony was, and how funny, and how could Aziraphale possibly have not introduced him to them, before? 

(The angel noticed that Crowley always appeared rather pleased with himself, whenever this happened, but was careful to be looking in the other direction when Aziraphale turned to face him properly).

At half past eleven, the evening came to a natural close. The humans rose from their seats and bid one another goodbye, exchanging numbers and pleasantries, before they headed off towards their various methods of transportation home. 

Aziraphale had been a bit disappointed that it couldn’t all have lasted longer. Usually, at the end of a night, he was ready for some time alone, but this evening had been particularly pleasant. It had been deeply enjoyable to have Crowley there, amongst his humans, introducing the demon to the vagaries of the little group - explaining their in-jokes and stories, and sharing a few of their own with the humans, in turn. It was warm, and comfortable, and perfect.

He was delighted, then, when Crowley had loitered around after the others had left, gathering up glasses from the table and returning them to his desk; helping him clean the plates and place them back, alongside the glasses, in a cabinet; helping vanish all of the excess chairs back into non-existence. It felt very natural to have him there, chatting away about the silliness of the humans and their convoluted little lives, crowing over the (harmless) little temptations he had threaded into their conversations. Crowley loitering at the bookshop had become more common, over the last few months, but it was still enough of a novelty to make Aziraphale’s mortal heart jump that bit faster. 

Since the world had not ended, things had begun to shift, subtly, between the pair of them. There had been a period of semi-awkwardness, at first. Aziraphale had been unsure how much contact his counterpart would want, in the aftermath of the failed Armageddon. It had been rather an intense experience and he would not have begrudged Crowley some time by himself, or one of his decades-long naps, to process it all. It would have been difficult, after such an extended time spent in one another’s company, but the angel would have understood. 

Crowley had not disappeared off into the shadows to rest and recuperate, however. Just a few days after they had dined together, at the Ritz, he had appeared on Aziraphale's doorstep with tickets to a new film he thought the angel would find amusing. So, they had gone to see the film. Then, two days later, he was back, asking Aziraphale if he wanted to grab dinner. Then lunch, the week after. 

Six months had passed, in such a manner. Every few days, they would go out for a drink, or to the theatre, or Crowley would just pop over and they would laze around the shop, talking about nothing in particular. And, even once they were done talking, the demon would loiter. He would loiter draped over the angel’s sofa, or in a chair, or on the floor between bookshelves, long legs thrown over one another, long body curved at some improbable angle. Aziraphale would work and Crowley would read, or listen to music, or nap - and the angel liked it. He liked it a lot. It was the sort of gentle companionship they had both wanted for a very long time. 

It was the sort of thing that was hard to disguise as professional interest, however. Before, there had always had to be a ruse for Crowley to spend time in his company. There had always had to be a reason, a rationalisation. But not anymore, thought the angel, setting the last of the dinner plates inside the cupboard and turning to watch his friend. Now, they could be near one another just for the sake of being near. Now, they could spend time together just because they wanted to. There was no need to justify their actions, anymore - to themselves, or their masters. It was all out in the open. Heaven and Hell knew what they meant to one another. Even if not the depths of it. 

Eyeing the demon, Aziraphale clicked his fingers and a small table nearby cleaned itself, the wet imprints of wine glasses vanishing from its surface. 

Heaven and Hell could never understand the depths of them, in reality, he thought. Nobody, apart from he and Crowley, could possibly understand all that they have seen and become, these last six thousand years. They were one of those undefinable things that Aziraphale liked to file under the category of ‘life on Earth’; things that defied reason and logic, and were immeasurably more beautiful because of it. 

He would never have known Crowley, he thought, if not been for this posting. He would never have tasted such a connection, with another soul, if it had not been for this strange planet, and these strange humans, and this strange, ineffable plan. 

At the back of his mind - though he had been told, time and time again, that God did not do Their work through evil, or demons - Aziraphale could not help but think that it was the balance of them that made them work. The potential of them was inbuilt, and the world had been the catalyst. There was a certain feeling of fate, that clung to him and Crowley. 

Walking over to the small coffee table, the angel picked up a few books and carried them carefully over to the cabinet, where they usually resided. They were rare editions, far too valuable to be out on the shop floor. A treat, brought out to share with his humans. Aziraphale’s guests had enjoyed poring through them, earlier, and Aziraphale had enjoyed sharing them. Still, the sight of fingerprints on the leather covers, now, caused a frisson of unease to pass through the angel. 

Taking hold of his handkerchief, he began to carefully wipe their covers clean, before placing them back on the correct shelves. 

Across the way, Crowley took up position on the arm of the sofa, legs splayed out in front of him. He was just finishing off a self-righteous tirade about the roadworks currently taking place outside his flat. 

“Anyway, it’s been a massive ball ache.” He tossed his head, dramatically. “Nobody knows why they put the lights there, to start with, but they’ve lost three road signs in less than a week, and now someone from the council has had to come down to shift the whole lot back a couple of metres. Complete fiasco - and, apparently, there’s still another fortnight to go until they’re done. Mark my words,” he shoved his hands into his slightly too-small pockets, “if it goes on any longer, my local MP is going to find something very, _very_ unpleasant in their letterbox…”

Aziraphale turned his head, to watch the unmalicious lines of his friend’s face, lit by the soft light of a nearby lamp. He doubted very much if Crowley had ever put anything worse than a schoolboy prank in anyone’s letterbox - though involving the Bentley’s parking spot in the matter did rather raise the stakes. The council had no idea on what infernal ground they were treading. 

“It all sounds rather distressing,” he commented lightly, placing another book back on the shelf. 

“Nng. Yeah.” On the sofa, the demon yawned, crossing his legs at the ankle, then fixed Aziraphale with a purposeful stare. “Speaking of local councils… Your friend Jackson seemed very interested in where I live.” Most people would have interpreted his tone as offhand, but Aziraphale could sense the carefully measured intent in it. The implication. “Apparently, you’ve mentioned before that I’m based in Mayfair.” 

The angel glanced over. 

There was gentle expectation in the way Crowley raised the subject. It was a tease, for sure, but not one designed to fluster. No, this was something else, the angel thought - something designed to reaffirm. It was a gentle tug at the connection between them, to check that it was still there, to test its growing strength. A little exploration of what they were becoming, to one another.

“He's looking to rent a place over that way,” Aziraphale replied, after taking a moment to gather himself. Picking up the third of his rare books, he wiped the cover carefully and slid it back into the cabinet, alongside its fellows. “I was telling him how nice you find it, living near the park. Just making conversation - you know how it is, with humans.” 

“Yeah…” Crowley tilted his head, then reached up and removed the dark sunglasses that he had been wearing all evening. 

A feeling of warmth spread through Aziraphale's belly, the hint of a flush rising to his cheeks - because it was harder to pretend he had just been talking about property locations when he was meeting his friend's eyes, directly. A lot of things were harder without tinted glass between them. But they were worth it, the angel thought, feeling his stomach clench. He never tired of seeing those golden eyes. 

“That other human, the short one-,” Crowley began, giving a little frown. 

“Simon?”

“No, no.. the one with the stupid glasses.”

“Emma?” 

“Yeah,” Crowley gave a crooked grin. “They knew plenty about me, too. _Your Anthony_ \- wasn’t that what they called me?” And there was more than a little tease in his voice, now. Lifting his chin, Aziraphale’s friend parroted the human’s words, from earlier that evening. “ _So this must be your Anthony, the one you worked with, in Rome_.”

Aziraphale stared at his books, trying to keep his tone steady, as he replied. 

“Well, we did work together, in Rome. On a number of occasions, actually.”

“I suppose. Don’t know if that makes me ' _your Anthony_ ', though.”

Placing the book on the shelf, Aziraphale carefully wiped the glass around it, then turned to face the demon. 

He was not sure whether Crowley was offended by the humans’ implication, or merely exploring the idea. His friend had always played emotion close to his chest, and this emotion came with the weight of six thousand years behind it. 

What he and Crowley were, to one another, was a shifting thing, right now. They were in a strange space - somewhere between what they had been, and all that they could be. They hadn’t really talked about it, despite the slow slide into companionship they had been experiencing, these last six months. Aziraphale hadn’t wanted to ruin it, by analysing too much. 

“They don’t mean anything by it,” he told Crowley, eventually, thinking of his humans and how they had watched the demon, all night. “They just see the closeness we have and interpret it in the manner which humans would normally display such a bond. It is a natural conclusion, for them, to assume that we belong to one another in that way.” 

_In that way._

His mortal heart throbbed a bit faster. 

Crowley shrugged. Pulled a face. 

“I could ask them to stop, if it bothers you?” Aziraphale offered.

“Nah, it doesn’t bother me. Just didn’t know you talked about me to your friends, is all.”

“Oh, I don’t, really.”

“No?” Mischief flickered in the demon’s eyes. “Weird that they knew so much about me, then...”

Resisting the urge to roll his own eyes, Aziraphale turned his attention back to his handkerchief, shaking it free of dust. 

“Maybe I should report them, for stalking,” Crowley continued, voice growing more and more playful. “Odd that they should know things about me that neither of us have told them…”

“Okay, I might have mentioned you once or twice,” Aziraphale admitted, grudgingly. “It’s only they were always asking who I’d been to see a certain show with, or who had found the marvellous wine we were drinking… and the answer was always you. So, eventually, it made sense just to tell them about you.”

“So, you’ve mentioned me once or twice?” 

“Yes.”

“...Just once or twice?”

Aziraphale did roll his eyes, this time. “Thereabouts.” 

“They know an awful lot about me for a once or twice, angel,” Crowley grinned, and there was plenty tease in his voice, now. He was gathering steam, delighting in the way that Aziraphale shifted awkwardly on the spot. “They know that I can play piano, and my favourite brand of whisky, and what I drive, and that we were both up in Oxfordshire, earlier this year - although, interestingly, none of them knew what we were doing up there, or what I do for a living, as a matter of fact.”

“Well, naturally,” the angel muttered, then drew a heavy sigh. “Oh, so what if I do talk about you, Crowley?” 

“It’s just interesting, is all.”

"No it's not. Friends talk about one another, a little. It happens.” 

"Sounds like you talk about me more than a little, angel. Sounds like you talk about me _a lot_.” 

“Well, you’re a big part of my life,” Aziraphale retorted, exasperated now. His cheeks were very red and his insides felt oddly warmed by the whole situation. “So, yes, it's probably quite a lot.”

The tease faded from Crowley’s eyes, replaced by a warm little moment. Then, the demon smiled and looked away. 

“Cool. Good to know.” 

Aziraphale blinked. 

It wasn’t what he had expected, but since when had Crowley been what he’d expected? The demon was a mystery, and a wonder, and a constant surprise. He always has been. 

Aziraphale had become used to the little patterns they repeated, throughout time but, every now and again, Crowley still managed to step out of himself and surprise him. This was one of those moments; Crowley, interested and relaxed, gently pleased that Aziraphale talked about him, to his human friends. It wasn’t at all something that the angel would have expected the demon to care about, but it was endlessly pleasing that he did. It was reaffirmation that they were on the same page, about where all of this was heading. 

They might not have talked about how things had changed, these last six months, but actions - Aziraphale had always found - spoke louder than words. There was intent in the way that Crowley had nudged his way into Aziraphale’s world, after the failed Armageddon, filling the voids and chasing away the ghosts of uncertainty. They were becoming something new, together. And it was okay that they met up for dinner regularly, now, and that Crowley loitered around the shop, drinking his way through Aziraphale’s good wine, and tidying things up when he didn't need to; fixing the window latch that the angel had never gotten around to fixing, and rifling through the record collection that he found, abandoned, under the stairs. It was okay that Crowley called ahead, sometimes, before popping over, to see if Aziraphale needed anything picked up from the shops - and that he dropped in, sometimes, just to bring him lunch. It was even okay that he sometimes loitered late enough to stay overnight, wrapped up in a hastily miracled quilt, on the sofa. 

It was okay that Aziraphale talked about the demon to his human friends, because ‘they’ were not some ephemeral thing that lived only in their minds, anymore. They were a thing that anyone could witness. They were a thing that hung out at the bookshop, and wandered through the park, and went to the cinema, and sometimes spent long evenings curled up on the sofa, at the demon’s flat - watching old films and judging his extensive collection of spirits. They were a thing that shared time, and laughs, and touches. 

Touch had been one of the loveliest developments of the last few months, Aziraphale thought - though it was only over the last few weeks that it had really come to the fore. It had been the angel who had started it, rather surprising himself with his own boldness. 

They had been walking home after the theatre, at the time, half cut and feeling a bit brave, and Aziraphale had just slipped his hand into the crook of the demon’s elbow, and Crowley had just let him. He had looked surprised, but he had let him. He hadn’t mentioned it. Just continued to saunter along - perhaps making a bit more of an effort to keep in-step, with Aziraphale. And that had been that. 

Then, it had happened again, the next week. And then again, the week after. And then there had been a little moment, at the ballet last Thursday, where they had touched a little more. 

It had been intermission, and Aziraphale’s hand had been lying on the armrest between them, and Crowley had been waxing lyrical. Aziraphale could not even remember the subject of the conversation. (It had been something silly). But he could remember that Crowley had reached out - tapping the back of his wrist, to punctuate some point - and then not not lifted his hand again, afterwards. He had just let his fingers lie there, long after the conversation had moved on. Then, as the lights had dimmed and the second act had started, he had turned back to the stage and slipped his fingers forwards, into the curve of Aziraphale’s palm, and they had held hands for the rest of the show.

They’d kissed, too. Three times. All little moments. Moments almost small enough to overlook, in themselves, but that cumulatively showed something new between them. 

The first had been nothing more than a peck on the cheek, a bit more than a month ago - a little movement offered in thanks, for Crowley collecting a rare piece from a dealer, while he was up in Oxford. The second had happened a fortnight later, while saying goodbye at the front door after an evening spent doing thoroughly nothing together. It had been Crowley who made the move, that time, and it had been soft, and sweet, and almost entirely platonic. 

Their third kiss had been different. It had been a charged moment, shared in the front seat of the Bentley, just a few days ago. 

They had been having some ridiculous argument - about whether or not eels were fish - and Crowley had been waving his hands around, while making his point, and it had been irritating Aziraphale, so he had reached out to still them. Crowley had moved to brush him off but, instead of letting go, the angel had just curled his fingers a bit tighter and the seriousness had sort of dwindled from the conversation. 

They had started to tease. Then, they had started to laugh. Then, Crowley had leant over the gearstick and kissed him, and the kiss had lasted for far, far longer than any kiss they had shared before - in greeting, or in parting, or in thanks. It had been soft and exploratory, but laced with warmth. And Crowley had given Aziraphale a strange little look as they pulled apart, afterwards, before muttering something about having to resort to drastic measures to shut him up, and starting the car, to drive them home. 

While often slow on the uptake with social situations, Aziraphale was fairly sure he knew where this was heading. He knew how he felt and he was almost certain that he had not misread the signs that Crowley had been throwing in his direction. He hadn’t realised how far they’d come, however, until tonight. 

But here they were, Aziraphale thought, wiping the cover of an old book of maps. Here they were, cosily cleaning up after a party that they’d sort-of hosted together. Here Crowley was, blatantly and shamelessly involved in his life, teasing him with love in his eyes and watching him with love, afterwards - not bothering to shield any of it. And it was okay, Aziraphale reminded himself. It was okay for them to share this, now. 

It was perfect. 

“I could be, you know,” Crowley spoke up, gently, breaking the contemplative silence of the room.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale rubbed at a particularly stubborn fingerprint on the cover of his book, using the moment to distract himself from the sudden increase in the tempo of his heartbeat. There was intention in Crowley’s tone, suddenly - the same sort of intention he had shown over the last few weeks, in the moments before he had reached out. “Could be what, dear boy?”

“Your Anthony.” 

Aziraphale stopped fiddling with the cover of the book. Looked up. 

Crowley met his eyes, the lines of his body perhaps a little tenser than usual, but his expression strangely calm. 

“What do you mean, Crowley?” The angel asked, softly.

His mouth was suddenly quite dry. His heart too fast, beneath his ribs. He wished he had thought to remove his cardigan, earlier. His skin felt entirely too warm.

Across the room, the demon gave a little shrug, and a frown. 

“Oh, you know,” he squirmed. “Just what anyone ever means, when they say that sort of thing.” Golden eyes darted expectantly around Aziraphale’s face, but the angel did not break the silence. “I mean ‘yours’ in the way they think i’m yours,” Crowley eventually clarified, words a little bit rushed. “Like a partner… if you’re interested in that sort of thing, that is?” His cheeks were very pink, his eyes very gold. The irises were wider than they had been, when he had first taken off his glasses - a sign that he was not quite as calm as he was pretending to be. 

“A partner?” Aziraphale asked, mouth very dry. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” 

He watched Crowley for a moment - watched the eager, hopeful light in his eyes - and suddenly the surprise and awkwardness began to fade away. 

His friend was beautiful, and clever, and so very brave for bringing the subject up, Aziraphale thought, with a rush of appreciation. And it was okay for them to have this conversation, now. They were allowed to discuss their future. They were allowed to explore all that they could be together, now that they were free from their masters. They were allowed to feel this way. (Or, not really allowed, but they were hardly going to be punished any more than they already were, because of it). Everyone already knew, Aziraphale thought. Everyone already knew what they meant, to one another.

“Well,” he gave Crowley a cautious smile. “I know we haven’t really talked about it, but I suppose I’ve been wondering about that, too.” 

“Yeah?” The demon prompted, only the lips of him moving. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale reached behind himself, placing his book back on the shelf, despite the fact that he had not finished cleaning the cover. Suddenly, it didn’t seem that important, anymore. Taking a step forwards, he faced Crowley, folding his hands in front of him. “I suppose I didn’t want to spoil things by putting any pressure on you.” 

The demon frowned. 

“I’m not going to run, Aziraphale.” 

“Good,” the angel smiled. He wasn’t going to run, either. They were going to have this conversation and that was okay. It was better than okay, actually. It was brilliant. “When you think about it,” he pushed on, gathering a bit of momentum, now, “it’s rather like partners how we act already, isn’t it? We spend a lot of our time together. We include one another in our future plans. We trust one another.” Aziraphale exhaled slowly. “We love one another.”

“Yeah,” Crowley watched him, eyes wide. “Yeah, we do.”

They’d said it out loud, before. Just the once, though - on that night after Armageddon, sitting side-by-side in the demon’s darkened flat, wondering if it was the last time they would ever see one another. It had been beautiful relief, to say it then. It was beautiful joy, to say it now, with the future set more securely ahead of them. 

“Is that what you were looking for?” Aziraphale asked his friend, quietly. “Confirmation of how I feel?”

Crowley licked his lips, then gave a little jerk of the head. He was thrumming with nervous energy. The angel could feel it pouring out of him, in waves. 

“Yeah, I mean, a bit.” He shrugged. “I know we’ve said those things before, but everything was sort of… _charged_ , at the time. It’s nice to hear it now, when we’ve had a chance to cool off. And also, well…” he eyed Aziraphale, cautiously. “I suppose, I brought it up to clarify a few things, too. Because, you're right, we act a bit like partners already. So, I suppose,” he squirmed, “what I mean to say is that we could be more than that, if you wanted? I mean, we could be like… like what human partners are, to one another.” He swallowed. “Something more than counterparts, or friends. Something like… mates.” 

He looked a bit surprised at the last word - as if he hadn’t realised it was going to make it all the way out of his mouth. 

Blinking and clearing his throat, Crowley sat up a bit straighter and made an obvious effort to look as if he did not want to vanish on the spot, out of embarrassment. 

Aziraphale felt his body shiver, in response. 

Mates. The word choice was intentional. He knew Crowley well enough to know that. At the very least, ‘mates’ meant a pair of something. Referring to two living creatures, however, it nearly always meant sexual partners. The verb meant sex as well. Coupling. Joining. Together. Not friends. Not platonic partners. _Mates_. 

“Was never sure if you went in for that sort of thing,” he murmured, feeling suddenly a little bit breathless.

“What? Monogamy?” Crowley asked, in a tone which Aziraphale considered to be purposefully obtuse. 

“No. Sex, darling.”

Crowley’s blinked. Clearly the combination of hearing ‘sex’ come out of Aziraphale's mouth, followed by being called ‘darling’, was a bit much for his brain to handle. It was a bit harsh of him really, thought the angel, but this was rather a lot to deal with, and Crowley being sarcastic didn’t help. 

“Oh. Well…” his friend gathered himself. Giving a little cough, he uncrossed his slender ankles and stared down at the tips of his boots. “I mean, I don’t tend to take lovers, these days, but I have done, in the past.” He shifted his feet and Aziraphale felt a rush of deep affection. He had never seen the demon look quite so awkward, yet quite so endearingly eager. “I do _have_ sex,” Crowley explained, doggedly, despite looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. “I mean, it’s something I like. It’s just… uh… something I usually do by myself, nowadays.” He faltered, there, and gave a very affected little eye roll before looking away over his right shoulder - face very, very red. 

Aziraphale watched him, feeling soft, and very happy, and very full of love. 

“Listen,” he started, after a few seconds had passed of Crowley grinding his teeth and avoiding his gaze. “Would you like to sit down and we can talk about this properly?” He gestured towards the sofa. “We’re both hovering.” 

“Would rather fuck off home and pretend I never brought it up, to be honest,” the demon grumbled, through a clenched jaw.

Aziraphale smiled. 

“Come on, let’s sit down.”

They sat. 

Crowley moved from the sofa’s arm to the cushions proper, positioning himself rather more towards the middle than he would normally have, not leaving much space - indicating to Aziraphale that he was not ready to have this conversation at close quarters. 

Dragging his desk chair over instead, Aziraphale sat across from him and straightened his waistcoat, folding his hands in his lap. 

Crowley eyed the waistcoat. 

The angel felt quite sure that he was having some sarcastic internal dialogue about why he would want to have sex with someone who still wore clothing from the eighteen hundreds, anyway - but that was rather Crowley’s own problem to deal with, the angel decided. He was just happy to be the recipient of such attention. 

He took a deep breath.

“Right.” 

“Right,” his friend echoed, roughly. 

The demon’s cheeks were still red and he was looking everywhere but at Aziraphale’s eyes. The angel, however, was feeling strangely calm. Perhaps it was because Crowley wasn’t, and his default position was to counterbalance his friend. That, and he had always responded well to pressure. Given all the time in the world, Aziraphale was indecisive and prone to procrastination. Given a deadline, however, (or the threat of worldwide annihilation) he rose to challenge. He was made a soldier, after all. 

This was a deadline, now, the angel thought. This was a bottleneck in a long and winding path that he and Crowley had been walking together. Right now, they were in the same place at the same time and they might even want the same thing. 

Aziraphale was not sure on that last point, however. It had always been difficult to read want, in Crowley. Want covered a whole spectrum of things - and he and Crowley had wanted plenty from one another that they had never been able to properly express. They had wanted companionship and closeness, recognition and a place in one another’s lives. They had wanted that gentle connection that they had been basking in, these last six months. 

Now that they were wandering down that route, however, Aziraphale thought he might have seen a few other kinds of want in the demon’s eyes, also - most notably after that kiss they had shared, in the front seat of the Bentley. But it was hard to be sure that he wasn't reading too much into the expression. The need in Crowley's eyes could have meant a lot of things. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what Crowley sought out, for fulfilment, in that aspect of his life. The demon had always been very private about sex. What he wanted and what he wanted to act on, therefore, were not forgone conclusions. All the angel could really do was tell his friend where he was and see if their positions matched up. 

“I think,” he began, carefully, “that in most ways that humans quantify it, you’re already my mate.” Looking down at his hands, he watched the little crescents of his fingernails for a while, choosing his words carefully, before pushing. “Certainly, the way that I love you is different to how friends love one another. Or, at least, very different to how I’ve loved anyone in the past. And I know that part of that is because of how long we've known one another, and all that we've been through together, but there is also a romantic element to it. I mean, there's a romantic element for me, at least. It’s…” he frowned, searching for words that felt good enough. Strong enough.

“Like we’re two halves of something,” Crowley finished for him, cautiously, but with surprising sureness. “Like we’re supposed to fit.”

Aziraphale looked up, a smile drawing across his face. 

“Yes. Just so.” 

“I’ve been thinking about it that way for a while,” the demon mumbled, finally meeting his eyes. “Wasn’t sure if we were on the same page.” 

“I think we are.”

“Yeah.” 

They watched one another a long few seconds, letting the niceness of the moment wash over them. 

The little touches and kisses they had shared, over the last month, played through the angel’s mind, on repeat. Crowley’s arm, warm against his; Crowley’s fingers, tucked into the palm of his hand; the demon’s eyes flashing with laughter in half darkness; the warmth of his body pressed nearby, on the sofa; his mouth, warm and slightly sweet against the angel’s, the leather smell of the car and their cologne and winter air mixing all around them. It had all been wonderful. Aziraphale had been enjoying it immensely. Realising that Crowley had probably keyed into that, however, he felt obliged to point something out. 

“It's enough, you know.” He said, as Crowley’s forehead creased. “What we have. It would be more than enough.”

The demon’s eyes darted between his own.

“Bit of an intangible concept, isn’t it, ’what we have’?”

“I suppose, but things don’t always have to have a label. Sometimes, it can do more harm than good.” 

The demon pulled little face. 

“Sometimes, it can make it feel real.” 

Giving a little nod, the angel conceded the point. 

Crowley liked stability. He liked knowing where he stood. It was worth reminding himself that his friend might sometimes need a different level of security than he did, Aziraphale thought. Abandonment and rejection were subjects that bothered the demon more than most - and not without good reason.

“All I mean is that you shouldn’t feel the need to make this match up with any expectations you think I might have,” he tried to assure Crowley, gently. “There are plenty of people who share a close bond with a partner but don’t have sex.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “I do know that, Aziraphale. I’ve been around in the world as long as you have, you know… I do occasionally pick up a thing or two, dense as I am…”

“All I mean is you don’t have to choose between both or neither. I just think-,”

“-that I’m only offering because I know you fuck?” 

There was a slightly tense silence. Aziraphale tried not to react too much - because Crowley had voiced it in a purposefully inflammatory fashion, but he had only done so because he was feeling vulnerable and a bit defensive. The demon was never at his best, under such conditions. He could get downright snippy, sometimes. On most days, Aziraphale would have called him on it, but not today. He would prefer to have this conversation without it becoming an argument. 

Taking a slightly longer exhale than normal, the angel dipped his head slightly, in concession. 

“That was partly my point, yes,” he agreed. “I suppose, I worry that you might be offering because you want to please me - rather than because it’s something you want, yourself.” 

The demon eyed him. 

“What would be wrong with wanting to please you?”

“Nothing, in and of itself. I just don’t want you to compromise, in order to achieve it.”

The demon frowned. 

“But it does please you, doesn’t it - sex?” His golden eyes were slightly narrowed. “You take lovers. I know you do. We run in the same circles. I’ve even met one or two of them.”

“I have, in the past,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“And now?”

“Not for over a hundred years.”

That seemed to relax Crowley, slightly. He leant back a little, against the sofa. 

Jealous, nervous demon, thought Aziraphale, eyes drifting over him. _As if any of them could compare to you._

A couple of moments passed in slightly more comfortable silence. Then a thought occurred to the angel - something he had not appreciated might be needed to be stated explicitly.

“It’s not a choice,” he told Crowley, gently. “Its never going to be a choice between getting that from you or from someone else. If I’m with you, I’m only with you. Whether or not we have sex is another matter.” 

Crowley eyed him. 

“You’d want to, though? That’s something you’d… you’d want to try, with me?”

Aziraphale swallowed.

It was a bit of a dangerous question to answer, really, because it was setting explicit boundaries on what he included in his ideal of their relationship. But the only way of getting through a situation and building from it, healthily, was with honesty.

“Yes,” he answered, slowly. "If that was something you were also interested in exploring, then yes, I’d like to try that with you. But only if you were interested.” 

The demon relaxed a little bit more. “Thought so.” 

He didn’t seem worried about having it confirmed. Quite the opposite, in fact. And seeing that calmed Aziraphale, in turn. Slowly, his hands unclenched from around one another, in his lap. 

“It’s not something I need,” he continued, after half a minute had passed in thoughtful silence, Crowley staring off into the bookshelves to their left. “It’s a way of expressing how I feel. It’s something I enjoy, but it’s not essential.”

“Yeah.” The demon gave a loud sigh. All the anxiety seemed to have drained out of him. He looked less defensive, less on edge. His shoulders had relaxed and the hard lines of his neck softened, along with them. Tilting his head back, Crowley slouched further into the sofa, pressing his legs outwards, toying with a rip in the carpet with one foot. “Yeah, I get that…”

Aziraphale continued to watch him for a long few moments. Then, pushing past his own nerves, he pressed;

“What about you? How do you feel about it all?”

His friend gave a soft, disgruntled noise. 

“Oh-,” he screwed up his face, wrinkling his long nose. “Dunno… It was great, at first, when I was learning how these bodies worked, but then I started using it all as a bit of a distraction from all the shitty things that were happening in the world, and that got a bit weird… Led to a few not-so-great encounters. So, I stopped seeking people out, after that. Kind of kept myself to myself.” His eyes danced over Aziraphale’s face. “And then there was you…” 

“Me?” Aziraphale hardly dared to ask. 

“Yeah. You complicated things. Always wanted a lot from you that I couldn’t have.” Crowley eyed him. “I was aware that sex was probably part of that, but it was all mixed in with everything else - and none of it was possible anyway - so I mainly just ignored it. No point stressing, if there wasn’t a future, you know? But, then, there was a future…” The demon gave a little shrug, looking simultaneously embarrassed and eager. “We survived, and everyone knew what we meant to one another, and we weren't on opposite sides, anymore. And, well… I suppose, when I finally allowed myself to think about it, I realised that... that was something I wanted from you... or, with you, rather.” His cheeks flushed scarlet again. He looked away. “Realised a good few months ago, actually, but there was a lot of mental shite to work through, before I could do anything about it. You know how it is…" he screwed up his face, running a hand through his hair, "the mortifying ordeal of being known.” 

Warmth flooded Aziraphale. 

“Ah, yes. That old chestnut,” he murmured, softly. 

Crowley glanced back over, eyes grateful. This time, he didn’t look away. 

“M'sorry, angel. I'm not used to any of this,” he mumbled, after a few seconds of quiet. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Neither of us do,” Aziraphale assured him. 

“Well, yeah…” the demon grimaced. “In general terms of moving forwards, we’re in the same boat, but only one of us has spent the past two thousand years with only their hand for company. 'M a bit out of practice.” 

The skin along the nape of the angel’s neck heated, slightly. A mortal flush of hormones - a physical response to the thought of what his friend had been doing, with that hand. It was a well practiced reflex, to clamp down on the sensation. Aziraphale actually began to do so before remembering that they didn’t need to, anymore. 

He could let himself feel a bit of desire, he thought, with a dizzying thrill of delight. That was okay, now. That was something Crowley was interested in exploring, together. 

“Maybe we should concentrate on the partner bit, first?” he suggested, fiddling with his thumb to distract himself from the warmth rippling through his body. “Worry about the rest, later?” 

Crowley gave him a slightly appraising look. 

“I think we have the partner bit pretty much dead-on, actually.” 

Delighted squirmed in Aziraphale’s belly. 

“You do?”

“Yeah, I mean... I think we’re figuring it all out pretty well. Where the boundaries of our lives meet, and how much of our space we want to share, and all that.” He swallowed. “I think you’re okay with me spending more time here?”

“I am,” the angel nodded enthusiastically. “Very much so.”

“Right.” Crowley's lips gave a twitch of a smile, some of his old swagger returning, now that the conversation had passed the zenith of its awkwardness. “And you don't mind if I continue to inflict my place on you, occasionally?"

“I like your place,” Aziraphale exaggerated, slightly. 

“Ngh-, you like my _kitchen_."

“And your living room.”

“Okay, you like my kitchen and my giant television," he countered, pointing with one long index finger. “but you're not convinced about the sofa.”

“Well, it is a bit hard…”

“It’s modern!”

“I just think it could do with some pillows. Maybe a few blankets.”

“Would spoil the lines of it.”

“Mm.”

They watched one another for a few seconds, smiles spilling over their faces at the blatant domesticity of the moment. 

This was new; conversing about what they liked and disliked about one another’s lives, finding spaces where they could nudge their own opinions in, and negotiate terms for future expansion. This was the sort of thing that couples did. And, though Aziraphale had considered Crowley his other half - his balance, his counterpart, and the one constant thing in his universe - for a very long time, now, there was great pleasure in being able to own the feeling and give it a title. 

Everybody knew that they belonged to one another now, Aziraphale thought, with a swoop of delight. They had stood, side by side, in front of Heaven and Hell, and chosen one another and Earth. They had claimed this life they were building, together. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ll want more, eventually,” Crowley admitted, taking advantage of the warm safety of the moment they had created between them. “I mean, I think I’d want us to live closer, or together, or something - however that would work, for creatures like us.” 

“Yes.” That squirming feeling was back, deep in Aziraphale's mortal belly. Nervous anticipation. Not fear, exactly, but a keen awareness of the expanse of possibility that lay before them. It wasn't a bad feeling, at all. “I think I would, as well.”

“But we'll have time to figure all that stuff out, won't we?”

“Yes.”

“And to figure out what Above and Below want from us - and to find a way to live with it?”

“Yes.”

Hell had sent Crowley a missive just the other week, stating that he was to stay posted on Earth, but he was on probation and half pay. Crowley had said this didn’t affect him in the slightest as there was nothing in Hell’s gift shop which had ever caught his eye, anyway. Aziraphale suspected that there would be more to it, in the long run, but he was happy for the reprieve in the short. As was the demon. 

Heaven hadn’t been in contact at all. Hopefully, it would stay that way for a good long time. 

“We’ll figure it out,” the angel told his friend. “We always do.”

“Reticently, but with great aplomb?”

"Yes. Quite.” 

They grinned at one another, a bit sheepishly, then Crowley cleared his throat and bounced a knee slightly, seeming to move on from the topic, inside his head. Aziraphale sensed the possibility of action, looming on the horizon. 

“So…” The demon tilted his head, expression shifting, something new sliding in amongst his features. It was something a little hungry - a side of him that Aziraphale had only glimpsed a dozen times, in all his years of knowing him. A wanting demon, eyes a little dark with need. “Maybe, uh… considering that, you could come sit over here a while? We could check that this is definitely something we definitely want to try?”

Aziraphale watched his friend. 

Long and lean in the soft light of the bookshop, Crowley looked both very familiar and very lovely. The angel could pick out all the little features that he adored so much; the little creases in his skin, the way the muscles around his eyes tightened, to change their shape, the well worn patterns of his hands. He knew Crowley inside out, he thought, but there were things they hadn’t explored together. There were expressions and reactions he had not seen, little moments they had not shared - things Aziraphale would very much like to share. 

He would like to experience his friend losing himself in pleasure. He would like to see ecstasy spill across the demon's face, and feel the joy that came from having caused it for him. He would like to see Crowley safe, and secure, and liquid in the aftermath. He would like to collect those parts of him, like he had collected all the rest. He wanted to see Crowley in that light, if Crowley was happy to have him there. 

Like sharing houseroom, it was something that would take more than one negotiation, Aziraphale thought. What they had talked about today would be an iterative process. Sex encompassed a whole range of possibilities, some of which the angel had indulged in before, some of which he hadn’t, but all of which would require further reassurance. He needed to know that this was something Crowley wanted as much as he did. They would take it slowly, he thought, watching the demon with no small degree of fondness. They had time, after all. 

“You sure?” He asked his friend, eyeing the sofa beside him. “We don’t have to. There’s no rush.”

“I’m sure.” Crowley shifted in his seat, pushing himself over to one end of the ancient piece of furniture, leaving more than enough space for Aziraphale to sit without touching. 

They had shared the sofa that way multiple times, over the past few weeks, without touching. They had shared it with touching, too. Sometimes, it would be no more than the outside of their thighs, brushing as the demon lounged and the angel chattered on about his book. Sometimes, it would be a foot, the tips of Crowley’s toes pushed under the tips of his own, to nudge along in time with the music they were listening to. Sometimes, the demon would stretch an arm right out across the back of the cushions, the tips of his fingers resting against the angel’s neck, or his shoulder. 

That, last, was Aziraphale’s favourite. He liked the purposefulness of it - the fact that hands were more difficult to get wrong than feet. It felt intentional. 

Clearing his throat, Crowley laid an arm on the back of the sofa cushions, glancing again over at Aziraphale. 

“You coming, then?”

The angel stood and made his way carefully over to the right hand side of the sofa. Hovering, he glanced once more at Crowley, to make sure there was no hesitance in his eyes, and then made himself comfortable on the sofa beside him. He sat in the middle, not far enough away to spell distance, but not close enough to touch, either; a statement of interest without being pushy.

Pushy was something Crowley seemed less wary of, himself. As the angel rested his hands in his lap, the demon leant immediately forwards, eyeing him with unabashed interest. He slipped the hand that had been lying on the back of the sofa down, so that it lay between the cushion and the angel’s shoulder. After pausing, to read Aziraphale's response, he pressed a thumb into the flesh there, rubbing against the wool of his cardigan. 

“This okay?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered - a little too quickly (not because he was unsure, but because the movement was very okay, and it was making him feel quite giddy, actually). His cheeks flushed, hotly. “Hi,” he mumbled, overwhelmed by the sight of Crowley watching him from just a few inches away. 

The demon’s lips drew back, in a grin. 

“Hi,” he mirrored - a little tease in the word - great golden eyes sliding purposefully over Aziraphale’s face and mouth. “Is this making you nervous?” He asked, sounding positively delighted by the prospect. 

“A little,” Aziraphale admitted, curling his fingers into his palm to stop himself from reaching out. 

There was an impulse for touch, growing in him. If he had been sitting across from any other lover, he would have already reached out to rest his fingers on their knee, stroked a thumb down the inside of it, squeezed them gently. Crowley’s knee was just within his reach, but he didn’t dare yet. The moment felt too delicate. Or it did, until the demon offered;

“You can touch me, if you want.” 

He did want. And he wasn’t the only one. Crowley’s fingers had already migrated up, from the outside of his shoulder, to the crook of his neck. The tips of the demon’s index and middle finger were resting just over the collar of his shirt, pressing against the skin of his neck. One long thumb was pushed against his collarbone. It was a proprietary little hold. 

Taking a slow breath in, Aziraphale reached out a hand and placed it gently over the outside of his friend’s knee, then ran a thumb around the inside. Crowley’s legs were far more slender than his own. If he ran his hand up to the middle of them, the angel knew his fingers would still reachnearly halfway around. There was a lot of potential there, for future encounters, and more than enough fuel for arousal. Aziraphale held himself back, however. This moment was Crowley’s, to lead. 

The demon breathed out, slowly, watching his own fingers play over the angel’s collar, then trace around to the back of his neck. 

“It’s mental, the whole sensation thing,” he murmured, fingertips tracing lines, following details of Aziraphale’s body that the angel himself could not see - details that Crowley probably knew intimately, from their long lives spent circling one another. 

They had both watched, for a long time, Aziraphale thought. It hadn’t always been about sex. More often than not, it had been need of other varieties; a desire for closeness and contact, for reassurance that they were not alone. Crowley had been the other half of him for a very long time. They had always wanted more than they were allowed. Now, what they wanted and were allowed sort of matched up. They could touch, the angel thought, dazedly. They could kiss, if they wanted to. 

His eyes rested on his friend’s mouth, as he talked. 

“You watch someone else get lost in this and you can’t quite understand it,” Crowley was murmuring, absently. “Then you’re there and its like-,” he pulled a little face. “Pffft… total brain disconnect… abstract thought thrown out the window. Everything’s suddenly feel, and smell… and taste…”

His eyes dropped to the angel’s mouth, then darted back up, to meet his eyes. They shared a strange moment, acknowledging that they were having the same thought - and that they wanted what they were thinking about to happen sooner, rather than later - then Aziraphale swallowed and summoned a few words.

“Sensory gating,” he mumbled. 

“Hmm?”

“That’s what they call it, when it blocks everything else out. Sensory gating. Human bodies are designed for focus, to push extraneous detail away, to concentrate on what they need, in order to survive.”

Crowley’s eyes traced his cheek, then the bridge of his nose, then his mouth.

“Feeling very human, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded, slowly. 

“Bad thing?” The demon asked. 

“No. Good thing.”

They watched one another for a space of three heartbeats, which took markedly less time than three heartbeats normally took. 

"Can I kiss you?"

"Yes."

"Okay..."

The kiss was a gentle movement, soft and sweet, and full of intentions. Their lips met, then pressed, then parted slowly. As they drew back, they took a moment to open eyes and glance up at one another. A reassurance. 

_This is okay, right? You're mine, right?_

Aziraphale had really intended to pause, then, to check they weren’t moving too fast, but the sight of Crowley quirking an eyebrow and flashing him a crooked grin was entirely too intoxicating. 

Giving a little sigh, he leant back in, closing the distance between them. He kissed Crowley harder - feeling a rush of delight as their lips parted and their tongues brushed - feeling a swoop of elation as his friend gave a breathless sigh against him. 

Kissing Crowley was very different to any kissing he had done, in the past. Crowley was warmer inside, for starters. Whether it was something specific to him, or just the average temperature of a demon, Aziraphale didn’t know, but it felt maddeningly lovely against his mouth. Crowley was warm, and eager, and burningly alive. 

Compared to a human, the demon's touch felt more real. His fingertips felt somehow more sure, tracing along the angel’s jawline. The hard edge of his nose felt somehow more solid, nudging into his cheek. Aziraphale was sure it was the latent power of him, thrumming away beneath his mortal skin. Magic wrapped in flesh, celestial power in his bones; Crowley took up space more forcefully than a human. His soul pressed closer. And his tongue… well, his tongue was definitely nothing of this world. 

That Crowley hadn’t done much kissing, in the last two thousand years, wasn’t terribly obvious. He didn’t seem entirely sure what to do with his hands, for the first minute, but instinct seemed to take over, after that. 

Having decided to let his friend lead, Aziraphale let himself be nudged back into the cushions with gentle pleasure. He lifted his arms away from his sides, happily allowing the cardigan to be pulled from his shoulders, allowing long fingers to slide up his arms. He gave a soft noise of delight as Crowley pushed them down, into the crease of the sofa, and leant over him, their legs tangling, hands sliding over sides, breathless from their exertions. And, kissing hungrily, the minutes melted away. 

It was bliss. Beautiful, mind numbing bliss. It had been years since Aziraphale had done anything like this, and his body was soon singing in response. His skin felt as if it had been set on fire, all of his nerve endings alive with anticipation. Crowley’s fingers tugged them closer, pressing the soft and hard of their bodies flush and, if it had been anyone else, the angel might have worried about what they thought about his physical form - about the way his belly was soft and full, and his thighs spread out when squeezed - but that didn’t matter, with Crowley. It just seemed so superfluous. 

Crowley knew him inside out, he thought, smiling into his friend’s mouth as Crowley made an appreciative noise and tucked himself closer. They knew one another better than two creatureshad ever known each other. They had shared bodies, and millennia, and the beginning and endings of worlds, together. 

They spent a glorious five minutes, pressed up against one another, hands exploring sides and tangling into hair. Despite being happy to follow Crowley’s lead, however, Aziraphale drew back as the demon began to grind his hips forwards, hard and eager, against his thigh.

“Hey-,” 

Lifting his mouth, he leant away from his friend, who gave a frustrated little noise and tried to follow him for a moment, before giving up and flopping back against the cushions. 

“What?” 

“Is this not a bit fast?” 

“Fast?” Crowley looked briefly panicked, afraid he had overstepped. “What? You want to stop?”

“No, no, not at all. I just…” Aziraphale let his eyes fall over his friend’s face, picking out the flushed rise of his cheeks and reddened lips. They were very wet. The angel swallowed hard. “I just wanted to check that you’re okay.”

The demon blinked. 

“Me? Course I’m okay. Like going fast, me.” His eyes darted between the angel’s own. “Come on, angel,” he leant back forwards but Aziraphale slipped a hand in between their chests and held him back. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Aziraphale rubbed a thumb against the front of his friend’s shirt. “This is perfect. It's what I've wanted for such a terribly long time..." Before him, Crowley looked a little mollified and more than a little pleased. The angel pushed himself to continue. “It would be okay, though, if you want to take things more slowly.”

The suggestion was greeted with a raised eyebrow. 

“We don’t have to do this in steps, Aziraphale.” Long fingers curled against his waist. “There are no societal rules we have to follow. No elders to please. No rituals to observe. We’re not human and we’re definitely old enough to choose what we do with our bodies…” Crowley’s eyes darted between his own. “If we both want this, we can have it.”

Aziraphale looked carefully into the demon’s face, not sure what he could read there, beneath all of the want. There was a kind of quiet desperation in Crowley, tonight - as if he were afraid the whole situation was about to crumble into dust around them. 

“I understand what you’re saying,” the angel stated, eventually, careful to keep the tone non-confrontational. “I just want to make sure that you’re not rushing into anything, on my account.”

“Rushing into it?” Crowley gave an exasperated little noise. “We’ve known one another for six thousand years, you prat!”

“And we’ve been enemies for most of it.”

“We were never really enemies…”

“Well, yes, I know - but we were forced to hold a distance for a very long time.” The angel eyed his friend. “All I am saying is… tonight is not the only chance we’ll have. There will be plenty of nights. Plenty of opportunities. If you’d rather, we could just-,” 

“Fuck’ss sssake, Aziraphale!” Crowley interrupted him with a low hiss. Reaching out, he tugged the angel forwards, rolling their hips flush. “Can you not feel how much I want this?” He asked, voice harsh. 

His breaths were coming faster than usual. Every of them pressed his belly forwards, against the angel’s. Below the level of his belt, Aziraphale could feel other parts of him pressing, too. He could feel the heat of his erection, straining against the fabric of his jeans - tangible evidence of his want. But want was not always the best indicator of what a person needed, thought the angel, watching his friend’s face. 

This moment was all Aziraphale had been fantasising about for years. Kissing on the sofa, after exchanging admissions of love, had been the beginning of his loveliest daydreams - and the reality more than eclipsed his imagination. Crowley was beautiful, and alive, and very real against him. Yes, it was new and fast, but it was also perfect and wonderful, and Aziraphale certainly did not want to draw away. He was fairly sure that Crowley didn’t, either, but that did not mean the demon was ready to move forward. Sex was something Crowley didn’t regularly share with other people. This was outside his comfort zone. 

Sliding his hand sideways, Aziraphale rubbed his friend’s chest, feeling the dark fabric of his shirt shift, under his palm. It was a soft offer of more. An indication that he wasn’t stopping them - just giving them time, to think.

“What would you like to do, then?” He asked Crowley, gently. 

The demon stared at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“We can keep doing this, if you want?” 

“Yes-,” Crowley began, but Aziraphale spoke over him.

“Or we can stop.” 

“I don’t want to stop.”

“Or we can take this upstairs, and have a bit more space-,”

“Sounds ideal.” The demon began to get up, but again the angel pressed him gently back, fingers on his chest. 

“-but you have to tell me what you want, first.” 

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’d like you to tell me, very clearly, what you want.” Aziraphale held his gaze. 

There were many things that he knew about Crowley, from all their years together. He knew the demon liked stability and lashed out when he was embarrassed, and that his favourite colour was green, and that he only ate when he drank, and that he liked sesame ice cream, and that he became a hissing mess when he got his head massaged; and he knew that Crowley froze when he felt overwhelmed. When it all became too much, he panicked and he froze, and then he ran. 

This was not a good time for running, the angel thought. They were only just venturing back together after their last helping of trauma. If Crowley wasn’t ready to say out loud what he wanted, then he was definitely not ready for the angel to lead them there - and Aziraphale knew that his friend would let him lead. Crowley trusted him, implicitly. He trusted him with his life, and his future, but it was very important to Aziraphale that he be able to trust him with his present, too. 

The angel wanted this, but he didn’t want it at the expense of his friend. He didn’t want the demon to have any lingering doubts, now matter how small, because small doubts could grow, given time - and time was something they were going to have a lot of. This had to start right. It either happened in a situation where Crowley was completely comfortable, or it didn’t happen at all. 

“I’m sorry…” the demon gave a little ‘huff’ noise of affected disbelief. “Are you saying you want me to talk you through it? Step by step?” 

“Well, I’d like to know what you want, and the easiest way would be for you to tell me,” Aziraphale explained. 

Crowley stared at him, then gave a nervous little laugh. 

“Just carry on,” he offered, in his most practiced offhand voice. “Do what you like to do. I’ll tell you if I’m not into it.” 

“Not right away, you won’t.”

“I-,” 

“I _know_ you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, pressing into the space between them. 

He put every ounce of love he could manage, into the moment, every shred of understanding he had. Then, he wrapped it up with the feeling of safety that only Crowley could make him feel - that comfort he knew when they were sitting together, drinking, or reading, or doing nothing in particular - and broadcast the emotion towards the demon. 

_You’re safe_ , he thought, staring into Crowley’s unsure golden eyes. _You’re safe, here, with me. I know you, and I want you, and I love you, and you’re safe._

The indignant tirade, which had been forming on the demon’s lips, faltered. He continued to watch Aziraphale for a few seconds. Then, he gave a funny little shrug and looked down. 

“Well,” he mumbled, eventually, “I suppose I’d like to go upstairs. And do a bit more of this… And then…” He faltered, flushing red right to the tips of his ears. A few seconds passed in silence, save for the ticking of a nearby carriage clock. Then, he hissed, very sharply, “Fuck - I’m not good at this, angel…”

“You’re doing fine-,” 

“I know what I want, though. I’m not an idiot…”

Aziraphale resisted the urge to reply and - sure enough - after a pause of a few seconds, Crowley gave an irritated little hiss and continued. 

“I want to be here.” He paused, rolled his eyes, then cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. Making a clear effort, he lifted his gaze to meet Aziraphale’s. “So, don’t… worry about that anymore, alright?” He glared at the cushion off to his right, for a while. Then muttered; “I’m just not good at talking about this sort of stuff, you know? I just never have the right words. And I’m supposed to have the right words, for this… It's _you,_ for Satan’s sake. I’m supposed to have the right words.” His eyes lifted to the angel’s, a little helplessly. “I just don’t want to fuck this up.” 

Warmth rode through Aziraphale. 

“Neither do I,” he told Crowley, gently. “That’s exactly how I feel, too.” He rubbed a thumb gently across his chest, feeling the demon’s rapid heartbeat begin to plateau. “That’s why I don’t want to assume. I want this to be good, for you.”

“You’re always good for me,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale smiled. 

“I’m not, dear. I’m really not. Nobody can be good for someone all the time.” He let his gaze travel fondly across the his best friend’s face, picking out the familiar lines around his eyes, the soft furrow of his brow. “We’re going to have times when we fall out, you know? When I make you angry and you make me furious… We’re going to have little resentments - over silly things, mainly, but also over how complicated our lives will be because we’ve chosen each other. We’ll argue, sometimes. For instance, I am almost certainly going to make you get rid of that sofa.” He smiled, as the demon’s worried expression folded into a frown. “And you are probably going to make me get rid of half of the books I store upstairs - because two spare rooms _and_ a bookshop is just unreasonable, and we both know it.” 

The shadow of a smile pulled, at the corners of Crowley's mouth.

“Things aren’t always going to be perfect,” Aziraphale continued, a little shyly. “We prioritise different things, in life, and we’re going to have to work out how to balance that. But, if we trust one another and we’re honest, I think we can make it work. I don’t need ‘the right words’, Crowley. I just need your words. Because I love you.” The words caused his own heart to race and Crowley’s pupils to dilate, slightly, across the way. They both took a moment. A breath. Then the angel continued. “And what you want matters to me. It matters a great deal.” 

They looked at one another for a long ten seconds - Aziraphale counting every one off to the sound of the clock, on the nearby mantlepiece. Then, Crowley cleared his throat. 

“I am _not_ getting rid of the sofa.” 

A tiny laugh fell from the angel’s lips. 

“You say that now,” he offered, allowing his friend to soften the tone of conversation with humour - to take the edge off. “But give it time. I can be very persuasive.” 

“Nah,” Crowley shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hard limit.” 

The mood in the air shifted, slightly. 

Aziraphale felt his friend’s body relax, against their cushions. Slowly, Crowley's expression changed from one of pretend offence, over the sofa, to something softly contemplative. 

“Re, tonight,” he eventually began, “I _would_ like to go upstairs.” He glanced up, as if to prove to Aziraphale that he could meet his eyes, whilst saying it. “And I would like to touch you. And I’d like you to touch me, too, if that’s, uh... something you’re interested in.” He looked away, again, cheeks reddening. “I’m not really up for anything more penetrative, right away. Not because it’s not my thing, or anything, because it really is. Big fan, actually.” He faltered, grimaced, cleared his throat and pushed on. “It’s just a bit intense, you know? And I’d prefer to be semi-coherent, when we do this for the first time, as opposed to a whimpering mess, face-down on your mattress. For egotistical reasons, mainly…” 

“Okay. Noted.” 

It was odd that he hadn’t flushed, at that, Aziraphale thought. Physical bodies were such strange things. One could go from blushing pink, at the vague inference that Crowley masturbated, to being able to hear him admit that he liked being fucked from behind without so much as blinking. Very odd. 

“What about you?” The demon asked, and the angel did feel a little flicker of surprise, at that. This had been so much about Crowley, in his mind, that he hadn’t really thought much about his own preferences. 

“Oh,” he sighed, and slipped his hand under the edge of his friend’s black waistcoat, feeling the hard edge of a nipple though the fabric of his shirt. It was easier, voicing what he wanted now that Crowley had laid out ground rules. “All of what you said sounds ideal. And, I suppose, prior to that, I’d like to undress you - if you don’t have any objections?”

The demon shook his head.

“No objections. Never been shy about that.” 

“Mm. I remember.” Back when clothing was a looser societal requirement, Crowley had spent most of his time stretching the concept of ‘decent’. He was perfectly happy wandering around in the nude, bathing publicly, and showing off what Hell had given him. Aziraphale assumed it was the demonic side of him - the part that took pleasure in inspiring envy and lust. Then again, even most demons drew the line at wandering through the desert with only a flap of leather tied around their waist for protection. “I always used to worry about you getting sunburnt,” the angel told his friend. “And the sand must have gotten everywhere.”

“Did cause a bit of chafing, over long distances,” Crowley admitted, looking oddly nostalgic.

“Yes, trousers are generally more practical,” the angel said, running his thumb gently along the edge of a rib. “Not sure if you look more or less clothed in them, though...”

“You like my trousers.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” muttered the angel, who did, of course, like them very much. 

They lay, watching one another for another moment, then Crowley leant in slightly, and pressed a very careful kiss against Aziraphale’s mouth. It was the sort of kiss that they’d shared before, occasionally, in greeting or in parting - back in times when it had been proper to do so, between male friends. It was almost chaste, but not quite. Because they’d always been a bit more than friends, thought the angel. 

When that extra little bit had changed from hereditary animosity to budding romance, Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure, but it had. They had been very friendly enemies. Then they had been very friendly something-more-than-friends. And now they were very friendly partners. And soon to be lovers. 

“What else would you like?” Crowley asked, voice slightly lower than it had been before, containing just a little bit of intent. His fingers curled around the side of Aziraphale’s hip, tugging gently at the flesh there. 

“I’d like it if you stayed over, afterwards.” The angel felt a tiny rush of insecurity as he admitted it, as if it were somehow more intimate than the rest of what they were proposing. “I’d like to sleep beside you.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. 

“Didn’t know you did that, angel.”

“Well, I don’t, really,” Aziraphale admitted. “I mean, I’ve tried a few times, before, but I always feel a touch vulnerable, shutting off from the world. I think I would like it better with you there, though. I’d feel a bit safer, a bit more relaxed. It's just something I've been wanting to try.” 

Crowley watched him carefully, for a moment, then nodded. “Okay,” he agreed, sliding a hand gently around to cradle Aziraphale’s lower back. “That sounds do-able. I’ll stay over, and we can try to sleep. Unless your bed turns out to be shit,” he added, “in which case we can hop over to mine and sleep there, instead. My bed is brilliant,” he said, in that smug little way he had when he was showing off simply for the sheer enjoyment of it. “Spared no expense. The pillows are made from some fancy goose down. The sheets contain untold hundreds of threads. The mattress was from one of those little start-up companies that advertise on the tube - you know, the ones that offer year long trial periods and have their own instagram account. It can cure leprosy and back cancer.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, Crowley.” 

“Well, you’ll have to come over and check, sometime, to prove me wrong.” 

Aziraphale sighed. He supposed he would. 

They watched one another a moment longer, then Crowley surprised him by sliding a hand down and tapping him on the backside. 

“Come on. Let’s go upstairs.” 

He sounded as bit as though he was rallying himself, but the gentle sincerity with which he picked himself apart from Aziraphale and then leant over, to help him up, mollified any worries the angel had about his commitment to their course of action. 

This was something Crowley wanted. The angel could see that in the eager way his friend wrapped their fingers together. He could see it in the steadying breath he took, when they reached the bottom of the stairs and he stood aside, to let Aziraphale lead, waving a hand to kill the lights in the small bookshop as they left. 

This was something both of them wanted, and it was something they could have, now.

.


	2. Chapter 2

.

They climbed the staircase in the dark, neither really needing light to see where they were going. Their celestial powers guided them, allowing them to feel the shape of the world much better than light.

Emerging onto the small landing, Aziraphale wondered if he should point out the different rooms of the small flat. It had been years since Crowley had been upstairs and that visit had only been brief - to fetch a book from the room Aziraphale used as storage. But a tour would be a poor use of their time, he decided, as he turned and saw the purposeful look in the demon's eyes. This was happening now. After a very, very long intro, they were both in the same place, at the same time, wanting the same thing, and able to act on it. This was it. Stupid time for a tour. 

Reaching back, Aziraphale took his friend’s hand, instead, and led him carefully down the hallway (which was significantly wider than it should have been, for a twisty soho flat), to the small bedroom at the far end. 

Inside, he left Crowley standing at the doorway and moved to arrange the space a little better. He waved a hand and shut the curtains, stripped back the quilt which lay over the bed, subtly making sure there was not too much dust lying around the place. He lit the small lamp on the other side of the room, too, choosing not to give Crowley the option to do this in the dark. He wanted to be able to see his friend - and not just with his powers, but with his physical eyes, too. They were both physical and metaphysical beings. That was what made this act important, he thought. It was a physical expression of how they felt. 

Taking a slightly awkward step inside the room, Crowley looked around himself, frowning at the large bed, which had been hand-carved sometime in the nineteenth century, rather than recently miracled into being. 

“I bought it the first time I tried sleeping,” Aziraphale explained, before Crowley could ask why he had such a luxurious bed, when he didn't sleep - before he could draw the conclusion that Aziraphale used it for other purposes. (Because the angel didn’t do that here. Never had. Sex was always something that happened in his lovers’ territories, outside the limits of his own little life. He had always been very careful about that - and about how far he let people in. It had always been about the physical, before. He had been fond of his partners, of course, but there had never been anything more than fondness and attraction between them. Certainly, nothing near to what he felt for the creature who stood before him, now, running a distracted hand through his hair, wrinkling a nose at the dated pattern of his window treatments). 

“Floral, angel - really?”

“It was the fashion, when they were put in,” Aziraphale mumbled, feeling a touch defensive out of nerves.

“Should have gone with tartan,” Crowley deadpanned, sauntering over towards the bed and standing by the end of it. “Far more stylish.” 

“Oh, how droll.” Aziraphale watched his friend carefully for a moment, then picked his way back around the bed, coming to a halt just half a foot away. Tilting his head back, he looked up at Crowley, who gave a nervous huff of laughter and looked away, back at the curtains. “Hey.” Reaching out, Aziraphale touched his side, drawing his attention. “Would you kiss me again?” 

The request was very quiet and very shy - but seemingly very much appreciated by the demon, whose awkwardness dwindled with action. 

Stepping forwards, Crowley tilted his head and kissed him - tentatively, at first, then soon not tentatively at all. Parting his lips, he let Aziraphale taste his tongue, and tug gently at his lower lip, and sigh happily into his mouth. He guided the pressure while Aziraphale guided their movements, and soon they were lost in one another again, sensation filling them up, drowning out the rest of the world. It felt strangely natural, as if it was something they had been doing for years, rather than for less than an hour. It felt soft. Perfect. Right. 

After a minute or two, Crowley began to nudge them backwards, until they came to stand against the side of the bed. 

Aziraphale drew back, looking up. 

“Oh, right. Um… Shall we, then?”

“If you still want to?”

“Yes.”

“If you don’t, we-,”

“No, I do," his voice was so breathless. “Very much.” 

“Ok. Cool... _ngk_." Crowley cleared his throat. “Uh… maybe some clothes off first, then? Easier that way, if I remember correctly. Less horizontal squirming. Bit more dignified.” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale gave his head a little shake, failing to clear the rush of his own thundering heartbeat. “Clothes.”

“Should I-?” The demon lifted a hand and made a move as if to snap his fingers and divest them both of their garments, but the angel stayed his hand. 

“Oh, can we not do it by hand?” 

Crowley pulled a face. “Bit of a waste of effort.”

“Please?”

The demon drew on the expression he wore when he was trying to look ‘long-suffering’, but only ever managing ‘deeply fond’. 

“All right, all right…” he sighed, holding his arms out to his sides, “go on, then. Have at.”

Aziraphale beamed. 

“Thank you.”

Still smiling, the angel let his hands fall first to his friend’s jacket. He liked the jacket - and could openly admit that to Crowley, unlike his feelings about the trousers. It seemed only fair to pull it gently from the demon’s shoulders, and fold it neatly over the end of the bed. The waistcoat followed suit, accompanied by the thing scrap of fabric that the demon wore around his neck, that the angel was not entirely sure could be called a tie. Aziraphale was sure it was very fashionable, whatever it was. Crowley had excellent taste. 

Laying it on top of the jacket and waistcoat, he turned back to his friend and lay his hand carefully against the demon's ribs, through the soft fabric of his shirt. He could feel a heartbeat bounding away beneath them, warm and excited, and so very alive. 

They were here, in these bodies, he marvelled - in a way that never got old, no matter how long he spent on the Earth. They were here, inside these living, breathing collections of flesh and muscle, rushing with life and blood, their nerve endings firing millions of times per second. They were supernatural creatures, with all the knowledge of time and the universe - they existed - but they were also inside these bodies and, therefore, alive. They were beyond dimension, but they could still feel the hairs raise on the back of their arms as they touched one another. 

_I love you_ , he pressed, unspoken, into the space between them. _I love you, and I want you, and you’re safe, here, with me. I’ll protect you with all that I am. And then some._

“You’re doing that glowy thing,” Crowley grumbled. 

“Hm?”

“Glowing.”

The angel looked down at himself. “Am not.” 

“It’s not a physical thing, it’s more-,” Crowley moved a hand, indicating something ethereal. “You know, a feeling. You do it, sometimes, when you’re being all…” he pulled a face, “ _whatever_ about something... Books or food, usually. Or me.” He looked a little shy. “Just something I’ve noticed.”

“Well, I suppose you were bound to notice, eventually,” Aziraphale said, turning his attention back down to the demon’s chest, sliding both of his hands down to tug his shirt free of his trousers. “I do spent a great deal of my time being ‘ _all whatever_ ’ about you.” He glanced up, taking in the pleased little expression that lurked in the corners of Crowley’s mouth. You’re beautiful and I love you, he thought, slipping his hands underneath the hem of the demon’s loosened shirt, to brush warm skin. Even if you can be pedantic, and repressed, and difficult. 

“Here.” 

Crowley reached down and pulled his shirt up over his head, dropping it carelessly on top of the pile of neatly folded clothes. Stepping back slightly, he kicked one shoe off, then the other, and lifted his hands to flatten the few strands of hair which had come out of place. 

“Does it ever get mussed up, when you sleep?” The angel asked him, just a little teasingly.

“It doesn’t dare.”

They smiled at one another. Then, the demon let out a low sigh.

“Are you going to finish, then, or shall I?” He motioned at his trousers. 

“Thought you might like to do me, first?"

A dark eyebrow lifted. 

“Oh really?”

Aziraphale flushed. “You know what I mean.” 

“Heh-.” Stepping back into the angel’s personal space, Crowley leant in, resting a cheek against Aziraphale’s forehead. “I know what you mean, angel,” he murmured, softly. 

His fingers slid up to tug at Aziraphale’s bow tie, then the collar of his shirt. The former was undone within a matter of seconds. The buttons of the collar took little longer. He was very proficient at undressing a man, thought Aziraphale. Two thousand year period of celibacy, or not, temptation was still very much Crowley’s game.

“I could, you know,” the demon murmured, against his temple. “Do you - if that’s what you like? Not really my area of expertise, but I’m happy to dabble.” Long fingers worked their way down the front of the angel’s waistcoat in slow, dexterous movements. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good with my hands… and I can do some really weird stuff with my tongue.” Aziraphale flushed as his friend turned his face in, lips brushing temple. “I realise I never asked what you preferred. I just assumed you were a bit of an equal opportunities lover, based on previous knowledge.” 

“What previous knowledge?” The angle asked, breathless as the last button of his waistcoat came free and Crowley’s hand slipped inside, palm flattening against his belly. 

“Watching you try to choose between sweet and savoury crepes, for lunch.” 

Aziraphale laughed out loud. 

Against his forehead, Crowley gave a little smile. 

This was nice, the angel thought, hands lifting to rest on his friend’s bare waist, thumbs feeling along the slender sides of him. It wasn’t odd. It wasn’t awkward. It was fun, and sweet, and safe. 

A part of him had worried that there would be little moments to overcome, on their path here - little hurdles that they had set up as friends which they would have to jump, in order to reform themselves as lovers. But they had never been only friends, he reminded himself, no more than they had been only enemies. They had always been complete counterparts. Critic and supporter, challenger and comfort; they had pushed and pulled one another around the world for so long, reforming and remaking themselves. They grew and adapted together. That’s what they did.

“I am fairly flexible about it all,” the angel admitted, tilting his head back to kiss Crowley gently on the cheek, and then on the mouth. “I have a few favourite things, but I’ve enjoyed most of what I’ve tried, so far. I’ll be happy as long as you’re enjoying yourself, really,” he smiled. 

“No weird kinks?” Asked the demon, his hands now halfway through unbuttoning the angel’s shirt. “No niche specialisms?” 

“Not really, no.” 

“Pity. Niche specialism is where it’s at.” 

“Oh, really? What do you get up to, then?” He pulled back an inch, watching Crowley watch him.

“Oh,” the demon gave a deep frown. “Really weird stuff. Absolutely filthy. Very impressive.” He held the serious expression for almost five seconds, then it fractured into a bashful grin. He looked down, sliding a thumb into the waistband of the angel’s trousers and using it to pull his shirt free. “Nah. I’m pretty vanilla, angel. Sort of stuck to my own little corner of things. Very happy to explore, though,” he offered, with a hopeful little look up. “I’m a quick study. You’ll just have to baby me a bit, to begin with.” 

“I can do that.” Aziraphale smiled. 

“Good.”

Sliding his hand around, the demon tugged the back of the angel’s shirt loose and then slid his hands around again, to tug the top button of his trousers open. Then, the next. Then, he paused. 

“We’ll figure it all out, won’t we?” He asked, softly. 

The angel understood ‘all' to mean not just what they did here, in the bedroom, but also the greater scope of their lives. They still had a lot to figure out, really. There were silly little things, like how long they were going to give it before they folded their homes together, and whose furniture they were going to keep when they did, and how long they were going to stay in London. Then, there were greater questions - things like what they wanted from the future, and what they hoped to achieve with the people they had been left on Earth to guard, and what they hoped to build for themselves, in way of legacy. 

There was a lot to figure out, but they would manage, Aziraphale thought, pulling his arms free from his shirt and draping it and his waistcoat on top of Crowley’s clothes. 

“We’ll be okay,” he smiled at his friend, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Pulling off his shoes and socks, he leant back so he could watch the demon click his fingers and step forwards without the encumbrance of trousers. (' _Takes a good half minute to wriggle out of them without magic. Not sexy. Not even slightly_ ’). Come lie by me?” He asked his friend, shyly. 

Crowley complied. 

Clambering up onto the bed, they lay side-on to one another, exploring faces and shoulders and necks and chests, for a while - brushing kisses against the little landmarks and pulses they found. The room was warm and it felt strangely natural to be displayed before one another, so they didn’t bother slipping beneath the covers. They lay until their little kisses blended together into longer kisses, and they stopped touching for exploration and began touching with intent. Then, the demon crawled over the angel, so that he could press kisses down into him. 

“All right. You’re going to have to take off your trousers and get this moving,” he murmured against Aziraphale’s lips, in the moments in between their meetings. “Because, while I’ve accepted that this is going to be mortifyingly quick, I draw the line at finishing against your leg like a horny teenager.” 

Giving a giggle which might have been embarrassing, had he not had his mind on other things, Aziraphale nodded and lifted hips, letting the demon crawl backwards off him, tugging his trousers down as he went. Tossing them dramatically over the side of the bed, Crowley crawled right back up again, helped pull the angel into a seated position, then settled himself over his thighs and they sat, faces almost level, breathing heavily. 

After a moment, the demon glanced down, frowning at the black and white of their respective undergarments. 

“Do you ever think we commit too much to a colour scheme?”

The angel felt his smile draw further across his face. If he had been glowy earlier, he thought, he must be positively radiant, now. His head was full of rushing emotion and endless sensation. He could barely process it all. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way. Lifting one hand, he slipped it up the outside of Crowley’s thigh, wrapping his fingers halfway around. 

“I imagine we’re the same colour, underneath.” 

Crowley’s eyes snapped up, eyebrows lifting. 

“Oh, really?” His face broke into a wide grin, looking entirely delighted by this turn of events. Dimples marked both of his cheeks, mirth wrote lines around his eyes. “Do you, angel?” 

Aziraphale blushed. 

“That was very smooth… very smooth, indeed.”

He lifted his chin, indignantly. “It has been known to happen, on occasion.”

Crowley continued to watch him with glee, mouth slightly open. 

“Uh huh?”

“On… rare occasion.”

“Mmm."

They held one another’s gaze, Crowley’s fingers toying with the waistband of his shorts. Then, gradually, the demon’s amusement faded into something else - something infinitely warmer and softer. 

Making a small, happy noise, he leant forwards, and pressed their mouths together. They kissed three times, the movements indulgent and languid, and then he drew back again.

“Come on.”

Giving a tug, he stretched the waistband of Aziraphale’s shorts, miracling the fabric away at exactly the moment the elastic began to dig into his sides. It was a strangely enticing sensation, like having them peeled slowly off but without the awkward bit of clambering up and down one another again. 

Reaching out, the angel did the same. 

Once naked, things slowed even further. There was something very tender about those first moments of exploration, running their hands into the creases of thighs, and down into the rough hair between their legs. They had both been man-shaped (in Crowley’s case, with some degree of inconsistency) for a long time, now, and they knew what they liked to do with their own bodies. Being presented with someone else’s, to do with what they wanted, was another matter. 

There was a little nervousness, in the way Crowley touched him. He looked up to meet Aziraphale’s eyes as he pulled his fingers lightly along the length of him - almost for reassurance. Aziraphale did not have to resort to words to give it. The simple act of sliding skin over blood-hot flesh seemed to change the pressure inside his abdomen and he let out an involuntary noise of pleasure. 

It was that sensory gating business again, he thought, as his eyes dropped closed and his head tilted back. Nerve endings firing. Blood being redirected, throbbing through him, swelling his flesh. His heartbeat lurched faster. His thoughts blurred together. They were all things he could control, really - things he could turn off, using his powers - but Aziraphale found he did not want to. He didn’t want to miss any of this. It was bliss and, when he opened his eyes again, he found Crowley watching him, and that was even better. 

“This okay?” The demon asked, gold eyes full of black pupil. 

“Mm.” Aziraphale exhaled slowly, and concentrated on keeping his eyes open as his friend trailed fingertips back along him, curling around testicles, seeking out the soft skin behind, before moving forwards to squeeze his cock again, gently. 

“What do you like?” 

He smiled slightly. “I’d like to touch you.”

“Nh-.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Touch away.”

Reaching out, Aziraphale settled his hands against the demon’s hips, pressing thumbs into the shadows of the bony protrusions, there. He traced the very tip of one finger down, along the lean muscle that led into Crowley’s thigh, bringing it around and up the underside of his cock - making the demon shiver. There was no need to stroke him into readiness, the angel thought. He was already achingly hard. Every time he breathed, the movement of his belly dipped the whole length of him.

Reaching down with his other hand, Aziraphale curled his fingers around both of them, pressing hot flesh against hot flesh. 

They both made involuntary little sighing noises. Then Crowley, a breathy little laugh. 

“Show off,” he muttered, good naturedly, glancing down at their disparity of width. 

The angel smiled. 

“Is this okay?” He asked.

“Yeah. More than okay.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely.” The demon gave a little sigh. 

“Do you usually use lubricant?”

“Heh-,” It was more of a noise than a word - a surprised, delighted little noise. 

Looking away and back again, Crowley took a moment to compose himself, then lifted his hands and knotted them around the back of Aziraphale's neck. Leaning in, he rested their foreheads together, his face less than an inch away from the angel’s - great, golden eyes filling his vision.

“This is so fucking weird…” 

“Bad weird?” Aziraphale asked, a little nervously. 

“No, good weird. Definitely good weird.” He gave a crooked smile. “Just a year ago, I’d have bet I’d go until the end of time without hearing you say the word ‘ _lubricant_ ’.” His eyes widened minutely, to punctuate the word, then softened as they slid down, across Aziraphale's face. “Glad I was wrong, though… Glad we both got here, in the end. It’s definitely a good thing.” He wrapped both of his hands more securely around the nape of the angel’s neck, and looked back up to meet his eyes. “I don’t use anything,” he said, in answer to the earlier question, “but there’s a lot more skin on the go, here, so it’s probably a good shout.” 

“Okay.” 

They smiled dazedly at one another, for a moment, then the angel closed the gap between them and they began kissing hungrily - kissing and pushing their bodies closer together, broadcasting waves of pure delight that left them both feeling dizzy. 

They spent three minutes that way, demon over angel, feeling the heat of one another pressed very close, then one of them finally got around to making lubrication a reality and they flopped back against the bedsheets to enjoy that for a while. 

Crowley had been right about all the skin. It provided just enough friction, slick with oil and the cumulative effects of their desire, to drag pure lust out of their bodies. They drew themselves right up to the edge of euphoria three times - each time Crowley tapping out and Aziraphale letting them them go just in time, moving his hands to run along his friend’s sides, instead, bringing them gently back down to Earth. 

After a few minutes, however, the demon stilled them properly. 

“Sorry. Need a break, or this is going to be over way too soon,” he panted, lifting his hips to bring them out of contact as he slipped a hand down, between them. “Show me what you like to do to yourself?” 

Panting, Aziraphale acquiesced. 

It was strangely exhilarating, to share this secret part of his life - to see his friend watching him with quiet attentiveness, to see him eventually nod, and nudge his hand away, and repeat the movements, drawing even more pleasure than Aziraphale thought was possible from his mortal flesh. 

Crowley, it turned out, committed to sex in much the same way that he committed to all things - with dedicated attention to detail and absolutely no quarter. He was shameless in his interest, and in the little questions he tossed up to the angel, and in the way he begged Aziraphale’s hand down to demonstrate again. He was fascinated by all the little noises, and the movements, and sensations. He took time to examine each and every one of them. It was a very different experience to what the angel had shared before, with previous partners. It was not sex for sex’s sake. It was very much about them and not about a destination. Though the destination became a bit inevitable, at a certain point. 

Revelling in his newfound knowledge, the demon tipped him mercilessly closer to climax and, despite a mumbled warning, continued to stroke him steadily right up until Aziraphale reached between them and grabbed his wrist. 

“Darling, I’m _very_ close,” he panted. 

Making a soothing noise, Crowley nudged Aziraphale's hand away and dipped his head in, to press a kiss against his cheek.

“Sss’okay, angel,” he murmured, voice sibilant with intent as he resumed the movement of his hand. “I want to see you come.” 

And, giving a whimper and a completely inarticulate ‘ _oh, fuck_ -’, Aziraphale had. 

His mind blanked, in the moment. Everything went still. A dull electric wave shot through him, from his thighs right through to the back of his spine. Everything clamped down for one - two, three - heartbeats of glorious, mind-numbing emptiness. Then, the tension broke and relief poured through him. 

Groaning, he pushed up into his friend’s hand, feeling the heat of his release leave his body, feeling it land, hot and wet, across his skin. His face flushed. His heartbeat pounded. Then, the contractions faded in his abdomen and his muscles went slack - euphoria giving way to warm exhaustion. His heart rate began to plateau, then fall - the ringing in his ears replaced by the low whoosh of blood. 

_Fuck._

Reality slipped back in, around him, along with the awareness of Crowley’s warm body. His friend was still holding onto him, fingertips playing through the hair at the root of his cock. His face rested in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, and the angel felt him smile there, as he let out a shaky sigh.

“You alright, in there?” 

“Mm…” Noises seemed more achievable than articulating the calm that was flowing through him, in the moment. His muscles felt very loose. His mind, very at peace. Crowley’s fingers gave him one last squeeze, then slid up to trace a wet circle, just below his navel. “Thank you,” the angel mumbled at his friend, not sure why he was phrasing it like that, but needing to share his appreciation for the manner in which Crowley had approached this. The attention the demon had paid, to exactly what brought him pleasure, was beyond anything Aziraphale could have imagined - despite a number of very vivid fantasies, over the years. 

Crowley chuckled.

“No problem.” 

“Mmh. No-,” Aziraphale frowned and shifted, wriggling a shoulder and a hip over in bed, so that he could face his friend. “I mean it, my dear. That was incredible. Thank you.” 

The demon’s expression of gentle amusement slipped sideways, into pride. Then, as he caught himself, a sarcastic little eye roll. 

“Anytime,” he drawled, and the sheer weight of how unbothered he sounded told Aziraphale just how bothered he was. “I’m available Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, on months ending with a ’Y’, and two till four on alternate bank holidays.”

“Sounds like shop opening hours,” Aziraphale smiled lazily. 

Crowley’s sarcastic, unbothered expression shifted towards something softer. 

“Yeah...” 

They lay together in silence for half a minute, gently rearranging themselves so that Aziraphale could slip one leg between his friend's and press a foot against a calf. So that Crowley’s hand could stroke the edge of an arm. 

“You know,” the demon said, eventually, “I think that’s only the third time in six thousand years that I’ve heard you swear.” 

The angel cringed, slightly. 

“I try not to, really, as a general rule. Just got a bit carried away…”

“Don't worry, it was very appropriate.”

“Oh, don’t...” 

“Nearly finished things off for me, as well.” 

“Crowley!” 

The half-hearted admonishment was received with a chuckle. 

Shifting closer, the demon leant in to place a wet kiss against his collarbone. Then, after a pause, another against his shoulder. 

“You can say what you like in front of me, you know,” he murmured, gently, after a moments’ silence. “It’s not as if I’m going to tell anyone.” He moved a hand around to press against Aziraphale’s belly and the angel almost cringed, to feel him slide through the mess he’d made of his skin, but Crowley gave a satisfied little noise and suddenly the sensation was enticing, rather than distasteful. (Sex was an odd thing). “You can say whatever crosses your mind,” Crowley continued, rubbing a thumb across him in a slow circle. “And you can do whatever you like - whatever makes you feel good. You can ask anything from me and I’ll give you it, if I can. You know that, right?” 

Feeling dazed and dizzy, and very much in love, the angel nodded. 

“Good.” The demon brought his head back, until they could meet one another’s eyes, and Aziraphale noticed that his expression had shifted into something more serious. The air in the room suddenly seemed to weigh a little more. “I know that you’re choosing this with full knowledge of me and my limitations, Aziraphale,” the demon said, softly. “And I know that you’re aware of what I can and can’t ever be, but… whatever I do have, however fucked up and imperfect, it is yours." His eyes were endless pools of gold. "I am yours. For as long as you’ll have me.” 

The sincerity in his voice made the angel’s stomach clench. 

How lucky he was. How lucky they were, to have this.

Sliding his arm around his friend, Aziraphale pulled him closer, until they were encircling one another, a tight knot of limbs and bodies. 

“I love you,” he breathed, into warm skin. 

“I know.” 

“I’m yours, too." 

“I know, angel.” 

They lay against one another, wrapped tightly, revelling in the latent strength of their earthly forms - revelling in using their power for pleasure rather than purpose. This moment was theirs, just like they were one another’s. It was quite exhilarating. Neither of them had ever had anything of their own, before. Everything that they had done had belonged to their masters. Everything they had owned was impermanent and of the Earth. But this was different. This was his demon, thought Aziraphale, taking a deep breath and pressing his belly flat against Crowley’s. This was his mate, who was going to ride out the rest of existence with him. 

Sliding one leg further between his mate’s legs, Aziraphale could feel that he was still half hard, but making absolutely no move to ask for attention. He wouldn’t, the angel knew. Tonight had very much been about Crowley proving his credentials, as a lover and a partner. It was typical of the demon to offer of himself and then shrink away from taking, in return. There was a lot of nonsense about deserving that went on, inside his head. Even that little speech had contained a healthy dose of self deprecation. ‘ _Whatever he had, however fucked up, his limitations_ ’… No words could disabuse him of these thoughts, Aziraphale knew. It would take time and patience, and a lot of love. Thankfully, those were all things the angel had in abundance. 

Reaching a hand up, Aziraphale stroked the space between his friend’s shoulder blades, finding the narrow columns of muscle beneath the skin, then the hard notches of his spine. At the same time, he slipped his leg forwards a little more, pressing his thigh up. He felt Crowley let out a long breath against him. 

“May I see what you like, then?” The angel asked him, gently scratching at his back with the tips of fingers. 

Crowley made a noncommittal noise. Then, when pressed, added; 

“There’s no need. If you’d rather try and sleep, I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to, darling.” 

The demon squirmed very slightly at being called ‘darling’. He liked it, though, Aziraphale could tell. He could feel Crowley’s delight burning, in the air between them, and the way his heartbeat pattered faster, beneath his ribs. 

He lay patiently, waiting for Crowley to respond - and, eventually, he did. 

Tightening his grip on Aziraphale’s side, the demon swallowed, then pressed lips into the side of the angel’s neck and spoke into the wet patch he made there. 

“Would you mind if we did something slightly weird?” 

“Mm?” It was mostly a noise to get him to continue, because Aziraphale knew he would agree to any weird thing his friend suggested, right now. He was warm and pliant and drowning in post climactic bliss. 

“You know that bit just before we switched bodies,” Crowley began, cautiously, “where we were both kind of _in_ one another, but still knew which parts belonged to who?” 

“Yes?” The angel was almost certain he knew where this was going. 

“Can we try that again? And I, uh, can show you what I like that way?” 

Wriggling his head back on their pillows, Aziraphale looked up at his friend. 

The crest of Crowley’s cheeks had reddened slightly. 

He didn’t want to say it all out loud, the angel thought, stroking along his spine. He was desperate to be known, and Aziraphale could feel desire growing in his body again, but he was clearly unsure about explicitly asking for what he wanted. It was not just shyness about sex, the angel suspected, but also the vulnerability involved. Vocalising exactly what made you weak, to the one person you’d been being strong for, for thousands of years, was an extremely vulnerable experience - Aziraphale knew. But that was okay, he thought, watching Crowley’s golden eyes watch him back. It was okay that they responded to things differently. They both trusted one another to carry them, just in different ways. 

“Yes,” he told the demon then, giving his side a little squeeze. “Of course we can.” Wrapping a hand around his friend’s hip, Aziraphale pulled him more snugly over one thigh, smiling as Crowley relaxed and let himself be guided. “I’d like that.” Tilting his head back, he offered a kiss. 

The demon accepted. Then took a second. Then a third. Then, he drew back a little and watched the angel with anticipation in his eyes. 

“Okay, then.” 

They held one another’s gaze for a long moment. There wasn’t much of a question about who was going to lead. Magic for their personal benefit had always come under Crowley’s purview. It was a rule which had come into being due to the angel’s reticence to commit to their friendship, but had stuck around because it gave Crowley some semblance of control in a situation where the demon usually had none. 

They had always worked in the same way. Aziraphale chose where and when they met or dined or what little temptations or blessings came under the arrangement. Crowley got to tweak the circumstances of those meetings, or mark out the table at which they would dine, or make it so that they could conduct their interactions without undue attention from passing humans. He liked being the one to use his powers to check if anyone was listening, or watching them too closely, or to will the humans away, so that they could concentrate fully on each other. He liked to do things for the angel and, for a very long time, magic was all he had been allowed to offer. 

That would change though, Aziraphale thought, looking over at his lover. It would be interesting to see if it resulted in any shifting of their roles. 

“Come closer?” He asked.

Crowley acquiesced, slipping his body flush.

In reality, they were already plenty close enough to make this work. Contact was not even strictly necessary, to shift souls - though it made the process of guiding things a bit easier. There was comfort, however, in being able to feel the demon brush the tip of his long nose against his cheek. There was delight in being able to pull Crowley against him.

“Ready?” 

“Ready.”

“Okay…”

It was the demon who led, but it wasn’t a case of him using his power to push his way inside. It was rather the opposite, in fact. Just like he had done the first time they’d tried this - in the dark of the demon’s Mayfair flat, the night after the world had not ended - Aziraphale’s friend led them together, not by force, but by dropping all the barriers that he usually maintained, to keep his soul inside his body. 

Now, it was a fact of being an angel, or a demon, that the outside did not necessarily match up with the inside. They were immortal souls, after all, shoved roughly into something approximating a human form, and such a trick required a certain amount of magic. Their spirits clung well enough to the physical, but it took a certain degree of concentration to keep them tied into one human-ish form when they were capable (unlike a human soul) of spreading across many. 

Crowley and Aziraphale had become well practiced at this feat, over the many years they had lived on Earth. They had learned quickly, after being posted to Eden, how to keep themselves rooted inside their physical forms. They had learned that they needed to either eat and drink and breathe, to sustain those bodies - or expend magic so that they would continue to live without. They had learned that they were required to keep part of their soul inside them, at all times, so that their magic would not fade from their flesh and cause it to fail. They had learned, too, that, while it was fairly easy to fit both a celestial and a human soul inside of a body at the same time, an angel and a demon was a bit of a stretch. 

They had learned that fact much later on - in the demon’s flat, as they had attempted to switch places in order to trick their masters. 

It had been a delicate moment. Both of them had been a little flushed with victory, and a little shaky with how they had displayed their allegiance, and more than a little frightened of what came next. Sitting opposite one another on Crowley’s very fashionable, very uncomfortable sofa, they had held one another’s hand and tried to relax enough to ease their souls towards one another. 

It had been more difficult than they'd expected. Aziraphale, in particular, had a great deal of trouble letting go of his physical form. It felt perverse, after six thousand years of trying to remain inside of it - after only so recently getting it back. Indeed, it was only after ten minutes of Crowley broadcasting the internal mantra of ‘ _it’s okay, you’re safe, I have you_ ’, that he managed to relax enough to lower his barriers. Then, he found himself spilling out quite uncontrollably.

They had sort of tumbled into one another, desperate and fearful, souls clinging together before they'd even realised what was happening. It had been incredibly intense - a strange, constricting, all-encompassing, beautiful sort of bliss. Gasping Crowley in, Aziraphale had become aware that he was neither in his body, nor out of it. He was somewhere in between - a little of him in the form he had become used to and a little inside the demon’s. He was both staring into Crowley’s eyes and also looking back, at himself, from behind them. They were spread somewhere in between one another and he could feel the demon’s soul pressed up against him. For just a moment, he could feel all that Crowley had every experienced - all the tastes, and smells, and thoughts, and wants, and sensations - and then the need to be even closer, to be completely known, had overwhelmed him and they had slipped, together, into Crowley’s body. 

They spent about a minute as a single living creature, breathing and living and existing as one. The experience had been almost too much. It had been too beautiful, too safe, too perfect for words. Neither of them had felt so known or wanted, in all of their existence. Neither of them had wanted to leave. It had taken a lot of delicate unpicking to put them back into separate bodies again - and they had only managed that because of the fear of leaving Aziraphale’s body without a soul for too long (and the ever-present knowledge that they had to figure this out before their masters came for them). 

It had been Crowley who managed it, in the end. Prising himself away from the angel, the demon had reluctantly held his distance for long enough for Aziraphale to gather himself and peel back into his own body, and then they had both fallen back against the sofa, gasping with the effort.

That was when their first declarations of love had happened; in the silence of the aftermath. 

They had been quiet for the first ten minutes. The demon had shakily poured them each a glass of whiskey and they had drank slowly, basking in their newfound knowledge of one another, not really feeling the need to talk. They had experienced more of one another, after all, in that minute sharing a body, than in all of the years that had come before. 

Eventually, however, Aziraphale had given in to the need to fill the silence and said something innocuous - and Crowley had sensed the quaver in his voice. Putting his glass down, he had opened an arm to scoop the angel to his side and Aziraphale had let himself be scooped. He had let his head fall against his friend’s warm shoulder, and they had held onto one another as they’d never allowed themselves, before. 

Wrapping arms around sides, pressing faces into necks, they had lost themselves in a physical representation of what they had just experienced on the level of souls. The angel had whispered endless ‘ _thank you’s_ against the demon’s skin and the demon had whispered soft reassurances back, and they had both feared less than they thought they might, to say all of it aloud, because they both already knew how the other felt, now. They had felt it themselves, crushed up against one another in a space not quite big enough for two immortal souls. They knew that they were loved.

_“You are the most important thing, to me. The most important thing. I can't lose you.”_

_“It’s okay. I love you. I’ve got you. We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’re going to figure it out…”_

They’d held onto one another for a very long time before they felt ready to try and switch bodies again. 

By morning, however, they had become rather practiced at the trick - which had been good news, as their lives had depended on the charade being flawless. The process got easier each time they did it. Soon, they were able to flit back and forth almost without detection. They were able to control how fast and how far they fell into one another. They were able to limit their exposure to just the sharing of sensation and peripheral thoughts. 

That was the moment they were searching for, now - pressed up against one another, naked and wanting, in the angel’s small bedroom. Tilting his head back slightly, face rapt with concentration, Crowley lowered all of his barriers and Aziraphale pushed greedily up against him, pressing just a little of his soul into Crowley’s body as he pulled back just a little bit of demon, in return. 

The experience was enough to leave them both panting. 

As they adjusted themselves between one another’s forms, Aziraphale could feel the harsh movement of air through his friend’s throat, expanding the lean barrel of his chest. Sensation went both ways, now. 

“Is this okay?” The angel asked - though the words did not come from his lips, but from somewhere in existence, around them. They were less than words, but a bit more than thoughts. It was his will, Aziraphale presumed, put into form. Or something close to that. 

Whatever it was, Crowley understood it, perfectly. 

Long fingers curled around his shoulder and the angel felt (rather than heard) the demon’s response. 

“Yes.” Crowley shifted forwards, foot sliding down to hook around the angel’s ankle, gaining purchase. Rough skin on smoother skin. “Yes, this.”

Aziraphale guided him closer, feeling the desire that rippled through his friend at the sensation of his own soft belly, pressing up against his cock - feeling his own, duller pleasure at the sensation of the demon’s oil-slicked flesh, pressing down into him. 

“More?” He asked.

“Yes. More.”

And Crowley did want more. He wanted great deal more. He wanted enormous depths of things from the future - but also a lot, right now. 

He wanted the angel to slide a hand down between them and take hold of him, so Aziraphale did that. He wanted a grip that was a little softer than the angel might have expected, and a movement that was a little faster, so Aziraphale complied. He liked a little twist over the end, it turned out, and a squeeze around the root, every dozen or so strokes. He liked a steady rhythm until the pressure built, and then for Aziraphale to let go of him completely, so that he could take a break. And he wanted the angel to lean forwards, in that time, and kiss him - kiss his mouth, and his neck, and the pink circles of his nipples. The sensation of that made him groan, and sigh, and made his lips draw back into a grin at the thought that they were actually doing this, and that it was good. So good. 

Locking a leg around the angel’s thigh, the demon thrust forwards when the pressure became too much, feeling sensation counter itself and lessen, then shift and build. And then he wanted more friction, so Aziraphale dropped a hand and wiped the oil off on his thigh. And then he wanted more speed, so the angel picked up the pace. But he still wanted more, so Aziraphale used every ounce of his physical strength to roll him over and press him down, into the blankets, crawling up to kneel against the underside of his thighs. 

And Crowley groaned in delight, then, because this really was his thing - more than the rest. (Though he had been telling the truth, earlier, about being willing to dabble. He wanted to try that, the angel realised, pressed up against him. He wanted to know what it was like, to lose himself inside of someone. But, for now, he wanted this). This was what he liked best. This was how he had fantasised about them happening, over and over again, these last few months. This was where he wanted to be; on his back, or on his belly, or on his side, pressed under Aziraphale. 

He loved that feeling of being trapped but exposed, full and wanted, given over to abandon. He loved the idea of being fucked by an angel. ( _Oh, he would never live it down, if he said that out loud… he would never. Stupid, stupid embarrassing thing to want. But he did… he did_ ) he wanted this. He wanted Aziraphale. Wanted more of him. Wanted all of him. 

For tonight, however, he was close enough to climax that his friend’s hands would suffice. 

“More.” Crowley willed, arching up against him, slipping his legs further apart. “More, more, more, more…”

The angel slowed his rhythm, working his fingers down to the soft skin below the hard shaft. The sacrifice of pace for touch made Crowley whine, but he didn’t thrust back up to reinstate it. He pressed a leg wider, instead, letting the angel explore. Rubbing gently at his balls didn’t seem do much for the demon but, as Aziraphale slid two fingers behind, to press into the hot skin there, he actually hissed. Bending a leg right back, he lifted his foot and pressed it against the outside of the angel’s ribs, arching his back. Panting. Begging. 

“What would you like, darling?” The angel asked - out loud this time, in concession to their earlier conversation. His lover told him what he wanted, or they didn’t go there. That was the rule. 

Crowley's eyes slipped open. 

Aziraphale felt the sickening weight of want coursing through him - the desperate need for release fighting with the years of repression and uncertainty. But, _Aziraphale was going to stay_ , the demon thought. _He was going to stay and they were going to be together, and eternity felt less terrifying when they were together. Always had done. They fit_ , Crowley though, beneath him. _They fit._

“You,” the demon whispered, tightening his fingers into the sheets beneath him, as he stared up at Aziraphale. “I want you.”

Sensation threatened to overwhelm. Aziraphale was hard again, leaking all over the underside of Crowley's thigh. And he knew what his friend wanted was more than enough tip them both over. 

“How do you want me?” he asked. 

“In… inside me, just a little." He looked dazed, drunk on the power of saying it out loud. “Two fingers. One first. Then, you know… give me a minute. Then add the other one.” He blinked, golden eyes full of black pupil. “And, uh… twice as much oil as you think you’re going to need and no sudden movements, okay?” They stared at one another for a few seconds, then the reality of what he’d just said must have hit home, because Crowley gave a surprised, crooked grin. 

And the angel found himself grinning back. It was a strange, lovely moment. It felt odd to be allowed to share this with one another, but somehow also completely natural. 

“You sure?” He asked the demon, though his fingers had already slipped backwards, to follow his initial instructions. He remembered what Crowley had said about penetration, earlier, and he wanted to be certain. It was okay to shift boundaries, as things went along, but he wanted this to be good, perfect, everything. 

Below him, his friend gave the most wonderful noise of need, toes curling against his side. 

“Yes, I'm sure. I…” he closed his eyes and dropped his head back to the pillows and the angel saw a grin spreading across his face at the overwhelming strangeness and wonder of it all. _It was just so good. They were just so beautiful, so perfect. They were light and dark, and power and life._ Aziraphale could feel love and want pouring off the demon in waves. And Crowley could feel it resounding back. They were both so loved. “Just fuck me a bit, won’t you?” the demon asked - one hand sliding up to cover his red face, even as the bashfulness slid from his voice. “Fuck me, angel.” 

And tiny laugh tripped from Aziraphale’s lips and then he was following the demon’s instructions to the letter, and their laughter was sliding away, towards oblivion. 

Crowley's head dropped back against the bedsheets. Sensation began to block out sound. And it was all Aziraphale could do to keep himself oriented in his own body, with his friend’s thighs, tense, against him, and the wiry strength of his body, curved up, beneath him - and Crowley's skin, hot in his palm… and the feel of the demon’s body yielding to his fingertips, and then the sensation of him, hot and slick, around him, and - oh - and the scent of himself on Crowley’s tongue, and - _fuck_ \- the lingering taste of the demon on his lips… And the heat - fuck, the heat - and the scent of them both... and the pressure inside of him… and Crowley’s fingers - no, Crowley’s body, his fingers - their fingers? And yes… oh, fuck-

_Yes, yes, yes, yes-,_

They didn’t finish together so much as pull themselves, one after another, into oblivion. One of them must have come first, but it was difficult to figure out which, because the other was dragged immediately after and the pleasure they had shared, across their bodies, compounded on itself for a good thirty seconds before either of them was able to do anything other than whimper and strain, uselessly. 

When they did begin to return to reality, it was to the realisation that their souls were separate, once more. The intensity of their physical reaction must have forced them apart, at some point, though neither could pinpoint when. There was a brief moment of loss, as Aziraphale relaxed himself back on his folded legs, but the sight of Crowley, panting and spread out before him, was perfect compensation for the distance of their souls. 

Curling the very tips of his finger, Aziraphale was rewarded with a tiny parting of his friend’s lips - and then a soft groan, as he gently withdrew his fingers and rubbed gently over the opening of him, for good measure. 

“Ugh…” slivers of golden iris were revealed, from beneath almost-closed lids. Black pupils tracked the angel as he finished stroking and slipped his hand around to cradle Crowley’s backside, instead. The demon’s hips were narrow. Spread out, Aziraphale’s fingers could cover a whole cheek. 

Shifting his legs, the angel adjusted them closer, dipping his head forwards to kiss a knee. Then a shin. The demon gazed up at him, eyes still half lidded, looking sincerely drunk on endorphins and not at all bothered about the exposure or vulnerability of the position.

“That was an _excellent_ idea,” Aziraphale told his friend, wondering if Crowley was up to speech yet. “Sharing, that is.” He let his eyes travel over the demon, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, and the semen collected in small pools across his belly. “Are you okay?” He asked, softly. 

“Ngh.”

Tilting his head, the angel considered his lover, trying to decide if his noise had been more of a positive- or negative-sounding ‘ _ngh_ ’. Deciding it was impossible to tell without further context, he released the demon’s hips and crawled up over him. Crowley’s gaze followed as he drew close, causing the lids to lift. 

Underneath, his eyes were pure gold, iris blown across the whole of them. Aziraphale marvelled at the sight. So often, his friend was forced to alter himself to make them appear more human. Before the near-end of the world, it had been many years since Aziraphale had seen Crowley’s eyes this way. Now, it less rare. Sometimes, in the evenings - while they were safely closeted in the bookshop, or the demon’s flat, or, very rarely, in a discrete corner of a bar or restaurant - the demon would tuck away his glasses and watch the angel properly, eyes as they were meant to be. 

Though it had been happening more frequently since the failed armageddon, it was still a treat to see. It was a little display of trust, on Crowley’s part, and Aziraphale appreciated it very much. 

Leaning in, he placed a kiss against his lover’s cheek. 

“Was that alright?” He asked. 

“Mmngh.”

“Are you ever going to use words again?”

Crowley tilted his chin back a little. 

“Feeling a bit shaky on the old English, at the moment,” he informed the angel, in a voice that was half hiss, half liquid satisfaction. 

It took a moment to realise he had reverted back to an ancient dialect of Hebrew, which Aziraphale supposed made sense. It was probably what they had spoken the longest, of all the languages of men. 

(The language they had spoken in the true Beginning neither of them used, anymore. It was mutually intelligible, for angels and demons, but its structure contained multiple elements which were modified, for each of them, and they had had soon stopped using it for that reason. It put yet another division between them. And they didn’t need any of that. They didn’t need divisions anymore, Aziraphale thought, leaning a little more of his weight against the demon beneath him. They were on their own side, now). 

“It’s a good thing you have quite the range of languages to chose from,” he smiled down at Crowley, who did that thing where his eyes smiled but his face stayed inscrutable. Inner delight, the angel knew. Secret basking. “Was Hebrew your favourite?” He asked, in the same tongue. 

“No. Just what I used longest.” Crowley breathed, the soft flesh of his belly coming in and out of contact with the angel’s. “I prefer French to speak and Arabic to write. Find them the most elegant.” 

“I never got the hang of French,” Aziraphale admitted, adjusting himself to rest on his forearms, allowing his hands to slide in against the demon’s ribs. “It never stuck in my mind.”

“It’s just frilly latin, angel.”

A smile tugged Aziraphale’s lips. 

“Perhaps that’s the problem,” he admitted, stretching out a thumb to touch the underside of a flushed pink nipple. “I tend to blur all the latin ones together, a little. Probably why I’ve taken to English. The Germanic influences help differentiate it.”

“Mm.” 

They lay a bit longer. Crowley’s hands came to rest on Aziraphale’s forearms, then his head. He ran his fingertips through the angel’s hair, massaging his scalp gently. It was incredibly lovely. Aziraphale felt himself falling more and more limp, against him, head dipping forwards until his forehead was resting gently on his chest. And there they stayed for a good long time, until he realised that his own weight couldn’t possibly be comfortable. 

An offer to move only made the demon grumble, however. 

“You're fine where you are. Don’t need that leg. Have more than enough limbs, as it is. Got by without any, before, and no harm done.” 

“I think it would be harder to get about, with only one leg, in this form,” Aziraphale insisted, placing a kiss against his demon's chest. “And you’d look terribly silly, trying to slither.” Gathering himself, he rolled off the demon and flopped down on the bed beside him, instead, watching Crowley flex his right leg. “More comfortable?”

“Honestly, I would have been completely fine lying there until you got bored and wandered off to read,” his friend admitted, without a shred of embarrassment - Aziraphale’s first experience of how expansive he got, high on post orgasmic hormones. “Or recovered enough to go again.”

A tiny shadow of a blush trailed its way across the angel’s cheeks, but he didn’t look away as Crowley turned his head, huge golden eyes seeking approval in his face. 

“You enjoyed yourself, then?” He asked instead, toying with the edge of the demon’s sharp hip. “I did it right?” 

A faint smile tilted Crowley’s mouth. 

“Yeah, it was just about bearable…” 

And that made Aziraphale smile, too, because ‘just about bearable’ didn’t at all cover the way his friend had melted underneath his fingertips, or come with a strangled moan into his hand, or held onto him, panting and dazed, in the aftermath. Or the fact that they were still not speaking English. 

“I see what you meant, earlier, about wanting to remain semi-coherent,” he commented, lightly.

Crowley gave a loud rush of laughter. 

“What, thisss?” He switched abruptly back to English, stumbling over the words for a moment before gathering himself. “Thisss iss nothing. I’m a right uselesss tart if you fuck me properly. Just wait - you’ll sssee.” He grinned, a little shyly. “My toes go numb, my s-sskin goes pink. The whimpering alone iss cripplingly embarrassssing… Can’t seem to dial it back, though. I’ve tried. It just doesn’t sseem to be an option…” He shrugged, lifting a hand to run fingers self-consciously through his hair. “Weird things, bodiess…” 

Aziraphale smiled back, not sure how he was possibly going to get used to this new way they were allowed to know one another. It was just so new. So wonderful. They were allowed to say things like that, now, he thought, with a dizzy rush of joy. They were allowed to share all the strange little quirks about their mortal bodies, and the deepest needs of their immortal souls. 

They were allowed to want from one another. They were allowed to give all that they had wanted to give, for years and years and years. It was okay. They both wanted this, and everyone knew. If anyone in Heaven or Hell guessed where either of them were, right now, they’d probably be right. And that was okay. 

Beside him, Crowley gave another short noise of laughter, then rolled over out of bed and stood up, a little unsteadily. 

“Ssstay here. I’ll be back in a sec,” he murmured, then padded softly out the room. 

Aziraphale watched him go, still smiling faintly, and listened to him wander through to the bathroom - listened to the sound of the tap running, and then the soft noise of him sauntering through to the kitchen, then a clink of glass. It was a strange little moment. It made the angel feel very warm and happy to know that Crowley was here, in his home, belonging. He had wanted this feeling for a very long time - for even longer than he had wanted the physical euphoria they had shared, ten minutes previous. 

Footsteps sounded back down the hall and the demon reappeared in the doorway, fluted glass in one hand, face cloth in another. Wandering over, he offered out the glass, which turned out to contain sparkling wine, of some variety, and crawled up onto the bed to sit beside the angel. 

“That’s sweet. Thank you.” 

“Shut up,” the demon wrinkled his nose at the word ‘sweet’. “Understatement has never been my thing,” he added, in explanation. “Besides, I think we’re due a bit of indulgence, after…” he made a little motion with his hand. “Well, you know. All of it.” 

“I think, perhaps, we are.” The angel took a sip. It was delicious. Not one of the vintages he had in his cellar, though. “Where is this from?”

“Mine,” the demon admitted, unfolding the damp flannel he had bought through and using it to wipe clean his belly. “Been saving it for a good night. Don’t fuss about it - nobody down there will look twice at me summoning inanimate objects over less than a mile. Thought miracling all of this away might draw attention, though…” he flicked an eyebrow as he ran the cloth over his ribs, cleaning away the evidence of their earlier pleasure. “I imagine there’s a difference between letting everyone assume what we get up to and rubbing their noses in it.” 

“Yes. It would be an interesting one to have to file into archives,” Aziraphale admitted, taking another long sip of the champagne while he watched Crowley wipe semen from the skin beneath his navel. It was so odd to have him here, in his bed, naked and relaxed and happy. Odd, but perfect. As the demon finished cleaning himself, however, and leant over to offer the same service to him, he felt awkwardness tingle, slightly. “You don’t have to, dear.” 

“I know that,” Crowley rolled his eyes. “It's not about having to…” Reaching a hand out, he rested it, a little cautiously, on the angel’s leg. “It’s not the end of the world if you let me take care of you, once in a while, you know?”

“I suppose not.” The angel considered the demon. “The end of the world was a bit different, wasn't it?”

“Yeah… Four chaps on horses. Everyone seemed really pissed.”

“Yes.”

They watched one another for a long few seconds, then Aziraphale gave a little nod that Crowley took as permission. Turning his attention downwards, the demon snaked himself across the bed and over the angel, giving his thigh a gentle squeeze as he did so. As Aziraphale watched, he dragged the warm flannel gently over the skin of his sides, then the front of the leg he’d had pressed against Crowley. They had both been fairly coated in their efforts. It was a little impressive how far it had all spread. 

Before wiping the last of him off his belly, the demon dipped his head in and dragged his tongue across the liquid. 

“Ngk,” he screwed up his face, “that’s me.” 

The angel let out a rolling chuckle of laughter, looking down at him. 

Crowley looked very silly and Aziraphale suspected he was doing it intentionally, to break any tension that might have remained between them. The angel appreciated it very much. As he watched, the demon pushed himself a little further down the bed, threw a slightly mischievous look up, then ran a hand down into the crease of the angel’s thigh to roll it out a little. There was a little of them left against the skin there and he made a different noise as he dipped his head in, this time. 

“There, that’s you.” He tilted his face, pressing more of his mouth against the skin.

"Oh good lord…” Aziraphale covered his face with his hands. “Stop it..."

“Yeah. Definitely you.” Aziraphale could feel him smile, though he could only see the ruffled top of his hair. His heart beat a bit faster, thrilling with love. “You taste better than me, angel.” 

He cleaned right along the top of his thigh with his tongue, then turned his face and placed an experimental little kiss against the underside of his cock. 

Aziraphale made a little noise, feeling the sensation tug at him. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, you couldn’t possibly..." he muttered, sitting back up and absently wiping over the angel’s thigh, the flannel now a little cool to the touch. 

Aziraphale gave a shrug. 

“Really?” The demon raises an eyebrow. “You could go another round, right now, _sans miracle_? After having your turn, then hijacking mine?”

A blush forced its way across Aziraphale's cheeks. 

“Well, yes. Probably.” He gave an apologetic little squirm. “I’ve always been able to. Short refractory period, I suppose. I can nearly always manage two. Three is a stretch, but I’ve done it before.”

A grin spread across Crowley’s face, his eyebrows sliding even further north. 

“Of course you have.”

Aziraphale frowned. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Crowley gave a low chuckle. 

Dropping the cloth over the edge of the bed, he grabbed the quilt that they had discarded to the bottom of the mattress and pulled it gently up over them, flopping down against the pillows on his side, so that their faces were level. 

“Angel,” he eyed Aziraphale, fondly, “I don’t think there has ever been - and, believe me, I mean this as the greatest possible compliment - a less ascetic Angel than you.”

They held one another’s gaze, a few inches away, the demon’s eyes teasing and the angel doing his best to look indignant, despite knowing that the point was entirely valid. 

“I don’t think anyone ever said that I was meant to be ascetic,” he blustered, softly. 

Crowley’s smile grew even wider. 

“No? And you don’t think it’s a bit demonic, all that balls to the wall hedonism?”

“Not if you’re doing it with love.”

“Ah, well…” Crowley gave a long sigh and leant back, resting his shoulder against the pillows. “I suppose that makes my chances of future promotion very slim, then.”

A delighted smile drew across Aziraphale’s lips.

“Because of all of the love?”

“Because of _all of the love_.”

“Oh.” He beamed at Crowley, who rolled his eyes but looked secretly quite pleased with himself. "Right."

A few moments passed in comfortable silence. 

Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, the angel lifted the champagne glass once more to his lips and took a long sip, marvelling at this situation in which he had found himself - enjoying the effervescence of the liquid sliding down his throat, and the similarly effervescent feeling of his heart inside his chest. 

Beside him, his lover gave a little yawn and then a small noise of agreement as the angel offered out the last few sips of champagne. Taking the glass, Crowley drained it, then placed it on the bedside table and wriggled further down against Aziraphale’s side again. Shoving a shoulder into their pillows, he shifted around until he had found a comfortable hollow, his nose resting very softly against the angel’s shoulder. 

“Well, this is disgustingly nice,” he announced, after they had lain this way for half a contented minute. “I imagine I should be horrified, with myself, but I just can’t seem to work up to it.” 

Aziraphale smiled, turning his cheek so that his nose was tickled by the top of the demon’s hair. “It’s not bad, is it?” He murmured, softly. “Just imagine… we could have been doing this for six thousand years.”

“Mmnh,” Crowley pulled a face. “You didn't even _like_ me, six thousand years ago.” 

“I did…” 

It was a slight stretch of the truth. He had not been at all sure of Crowley, in the beginning. The demon had just been so other, so different from everything Aziraphale had experienced before. It had taken a while to get used to his friend’s little abrasive ways, and for the demon to soften into being able to reveal the better aspects of his nature. The angel always thought he was pretty and clever and interesting, though. That much had always been true. 

If not for all of the hereditary enemy nonsense, Aziraphale suspected it would have taken the pair of them rather less than a year to bridge the distance between meeting and the physical aspect of where they were, now. So, they could have been doing this for five thousand nine hundred and ninety nine years, at least. But it would have been different, the angel thought, breathing in the warm scent of the demon. He would never have gotten to know Crowley the same way as he knew him, now. And getting to know Crowley was the single best thing he had ever done. He would not sacrifice that for anything. 

“How long have you wanted this?” He asked his lover softly, as slender fingers slipped in-between his own.

“Long time,” Crowley answered, dismissively. “Not worth dwelling on," he added, when Aziraphale held the silence. He stretched his fingers out and then curled them around the angel’s, a little tighter. ”What’s done is done. Made us who we are. Got us here.” 

That was the healthy way of looking at it, Aziraphale was sure, but he was an angel prone to dwelling. For a moment, his mind played over all of his loneliest nights. 

He remembered Jedda in the rain, the morning of a great festival, surrounded by families and love, and feeling so disconnected that he could not even access his powers to understand the language. He remembered Thebes in the spring, walking beneath rain soaked palms, watching life being breathed back into the land, feeling so at odds with its vibrant hope. He remembered Damascus, in the depths of winter and war, sitting in his little corner of a hospital, holding the hand of a stranger as they passed from the world. 

He had wanted Crowley’s hand that night - that night and many others, before and after. He had wanted to hold Crowley for far longer than he had realised what that meant. 

But their fingers were laced through one another’s now, he mused, curling a thumb over an index, feeling the gentle sharpness of the demon’s nail pressing into his palm. They were together, now, and they could claim one another by name. It was not just the ephemeral ‘everything’ that they had been to one another, before. Now, Crowley was his best friend; his partner, his lover, and his mate. He was backup and support, comfort and inspiration, and love. They would survive this world together, Aziraphale thought, pushing his face down into Crowley’s dark hair, wondering if it was soap or the demon that smelled of cedar - wondering if he preferred to shower or bathe. 

They would drink in all that this life had to offer, and learn all the little details of one another along the way. They had time, the angel thought. Heaven and Hell would want more from them, eventually, but they’d figure that out when it came. For the moment, they had time. And Aziraphale was not one to turn down a few years of bliss when they were offered.

“Fancy sacking off opening the bookshop, tomorrow?” Crowley asked, thoughtfully. “I’m driving up to Buckinghamshire, for a temptation, but it won’t take long and there are plenty of places to explore, on the way home.”

_Home_. The angel liked the way he said home. 

“Yes,” he sighed into the demon's hair which, no matter what Crowley had said about it not daring, was looking a great deal more mussed than usual. “I’d like that.”

“I know a pub that’s been in England almost as long as we have,” the demon yawned. “Haven’t popped by, in a while. They used to do some pretty good ales. And a decent steak. Might be nice.”

“Sounds incredibly nice.” 

Gripping his friend's fingers a little tighter, Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated very hard on the warm sensation of their bodies, touching at points along their length. 

He was here, he thought to himself, dazedly. It felt too good to be true, but he was actually here, wrapped up with his favourite person - the most important person, in the entire world. They were warm and happy, and they were going to keep being warm and happy. They were going to have a future, together, he thought, with a rush. They were going to continue to go places, and drink things, and explore, and eat, and learn, and touch - and they were probably have a great deal more sex, because tonight had been brilliant and he knew Crowley thought so, too. He was incredibly glad the demon had brought the subject up, actually. He would definitely have left it at least another few months, out of shyness. Probably longer.

Crowley gave a heavy sigh against his shoulder. 

“Want to try sleeping?”

He sounded distinctly hopeful, which made Aziraphale smile. In actuality, the angel wasn’t sure he’d manage to drop off. Sleep wasn’t really his thing. It felt a bit odd to just disconnect from the world and let his body hallucinate vividly, for six to eight hours, but he was happy to give it a try - even if mainly for his tired, sex-drunk demon. 

“You going to give me some tips?” He asked Crowley. 

“Nah,” the demon wriggled a little, so that his legs could come forwards and tangle in the angel’s, under the quilt. “Best way is just to think of something else and let it catch you, unawares.”

“Mm.” They lay for a moment. “What am I supposed to think about?”

A forked tongue darted out to touch the skin on his shoulder, a little playfully. 

“Just close your eyesss and think of England.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s a sex thing.”

Crowley chuckled and pressed his forehead against the angel’s arm. They were silent for half a minute, then he sighed and pushed his other hand in, stroking fingertips along Aziraphale’s side. 

“Think about Jerusalem, in late spring,” he murmured, and his voice was softer than usual, coaxing and light. “About the end of April, when the almond trees are still in blossom and summer is around the corner…” The demon drew long circles with his fingertips, the movement gentle, ceaseless. “Think about the days just after the last rains, when those red poppies are still blooming in the squares and the air smells sweet, and the city is still crowded with pilgrims. Think about how the skies are always blue, and white stone of the city glimmers, and you can smell sage in the heat of the afternoon. And then, when the sun goes down, how the sky turns to orange and gold - a stripe around the horizon - and the heat flees the city as the people light lamps, and gather to drink and eat, and the air is full of dust and laughter. Can you imagine such a night, angel?”

Aziraphale nodded. He could more than imagine, actually. 

A memory was tugging its way forwards, through the distance of time - a memory of them standing opposite one another. Crowley, somewhere between all of his forms, perfectly balanced and wrapped in richly embroidered black and burgundy. There was laughter in the air, just as the demon had described, and the distant scent of blossom and sage. Bellflower clung to the stone of the rooftop behind them and the sky was that hazy purple of just-after sunset. Meat was grilling nearby. The angel could almost smell the fat and the spices. It was late spring, or early summer, that diaphanous time between seasons, where the air shifts with possibility. 

They had passed through Jerusalem many times, throughout history, but the angel could pinpoint the memory of this night as coming some ten centuries after the death of the christian prophet. It had been near the end of a long period of relative peace, for the city, and the people celebrated differently than they did in times of war. There was warmth in the way they spilled out into the streets, and let their children run freely. The daughters of the city laughed from their windows, while their mothers lay food and their brothers ran through the streets. Their fathers gathered, talking with the self-importance of men who do not realise that their time on this earth is transient and their reach small. And, among them all, stood the angel and the demon, face to face for the first time in sixty years, and grinning with the ambience of celebration around them. 

It had been a strange night. They had been in a strange place, with one another. They had eaten together and drank, the angel remembered, dimly, and they had laughed a lot. It had been an encounter of of chance, sustained for purely social reasons. Neither had been in town on their master’s orders. They had come for the festival and, in Crowley’s case, for the dancing. 

He had danced with humans, that night, weaving in and out of them, the flashes of red in his clothes catching the lamplight, the flashes of gold in his eyes catching the angel’s as he watched, from the sidelines. Then, at some point, the demon had pulled Aziraphale in too, and they had danced together - the angel stumbling a little over the steps, and full of self-effacement - the demon laughing, but in a soft way. And when the song had ended they had fallen, breathless, back into their seats and drank some more. And, at the end of the night, the angel had walked Crowley back through the gentle slope of the city, up to his rooms, near the highest part of the wall. Then, he had kissed him on the cheek and said goodnight. 

They had watched one another for a long moment before parting ways. And, thinking back on it, there was a familiarity in the way Crowley’s eyes had rested on him, that night. 

“You've wanted this for that long?” He asked the demon, back in the present, back in their nest of sheets, in the little flat above the bookshop. Turning his head on their pillows, Aziraphale looked down at his friend, looked down at him for long enough that Crowley eventually exhaled into his shoulder and looked up. 

“Longer,” he admitted, “but that’s when I realised.”

Aziraphale watched him, wondering if his eyes looked anything like how Crowley’s had looked, that night in Jerusalem; grateful, and warm, and full of love. 

He knew the precise moment that he realised, also.

It had been an innocuous thing - the pair of them drinking in a tiny pub, in Paris, (four hundred years after that night in Jerusalem, six hundred years before the present day). The air had been smokey and the candlelight very dim. Their legs had been pressed together, under their cramped corner table, and Crowley had been miserable because of something or another. Aziraphale had spent the entire evening trying to cheer him up and when he eventually managed it, by way of some little joke about his superiors, Crowley had looked across the table and given him the smallest, most sincere little smile - and he had fallen in love, right there. 

Suddenly, the angel had wanted to take the demon in his arms. He had wanted to hold his friend and kiss him, and tell him that this sadness - like all Earthly shit that had come before - would pass. He had wanted to whisper to Crowley that he would protect him, and that he didn’t need to be afraid. And the realisation that he wanted to do all of that had scared Aziraphale so much that he had finished his ale, instead, and made some excuse to leave early. 

The realisation that Crowley loved him in return had come when the demon had blustered into a church and burned right through the soles of his shoes, just to spare him the embarrassment of discorporation. It had been such a dramatic over-reaction. And such a risk. And Crowley had not just saved him (because the demon had saved Aziraphale countless times, by this point) but saved the books, as well. And it had just been so perfect, and so sweet, and so intentional. He had saved them for no other reason than they mattered to Aziraphale, and that had filled the angel’s heart right to the brim. 

He had stared after Crowley very stupidly, that night, as the demon offered him a lift home and crunched his way out of the church, on slightly charred feet. And then he had spent the next seventy years trying not to stare after him, as he equilibrated their feelings and tried to find some way in which it was not a terrible idea to act on them. 

Lying in their bed, in the present, Aziraphale knew that there were still countless reasons why choosing one another was a dangerous move. There was no way that he would ever be in Heaven’s good books again, after Armageddon, but aligning himself with a demon was a surefire way of continuing to pique their ire. He would not just be left alone. There would be repercussions, eventually. There would be a price to pay, for this, but Crowley was worth the cost, Aziraphale thought, lifting their conjoined hands and bringing the demon’s fingertips to his lips. This was worth the cost. Excommunication, or worse, he was willing to pay it. 

It was the first time the angel had actively thought about how willing he was, to fall for the demon. And the reality of it was oddly comforting. Partly, because it told Aziraphale that they had made the right call, in admitting all of this to one another. Partly because, deep down, the angel still believed that a willingness to sacrifice for love was the most quintessential part of life on Earth - and that God could never be too far from a heart that loved. He had never felt closer to Her, after all, than now, in the days after he had been driven from Heaven. Surely, that had to mean something?

“I shall think of Jerusalem, then,” he murmured, to the demon, inching further down into their sheets and taking a deep breath that brought his belly in contact with Crowley’s side, revelling in the touch, and the way the expression on his friend’s angular face shifted, growing warmer and open. More relaxed. “And you, if you don’t mind?”

“Don’t mind.” The demon buried his face in the angel’s shoulder, breathing him in. “Never have.”

“Okay.” 

“Mm.”

They curled tighter, then fell slowly apart into the warmth they created, as their bodies began to loosen with sleep. The demon drifted off first, practiced in his art of disconnecting with the world. For the angel, it took a little longer. 

When he looked back on it later, actually, Aziraphale wasn’t sure where the memory ended and the dream began, but suddenly he was back in Jerusalem and the sweet smell of flower and sage was filing his lungs. His hands were wrapped around his friend’s hands, and they were following one another, weaving through a crowd of humans whose souls had long fled the world. He was following Crowley like a kite on a string, cutting through the fragrant air, as the demon wound eagerly forwards. And, every now and again, he would throw a look back and grin, his great golden eyes flashing in the lamplight. And Aziraphale let the love that he had not realised, back then, fill him up. He let need and want, and intention for the future overwhelm his senses. And he pulled the demon close in the aftermath of their dance and drew him into an embrace - just as he had done, in the past, but with just one change. He turned his face into the side of Crowley’s neck, this time, and whispered ‘I love you’ against the soft skin there. 

I love you, he thought, from somewhere in his dreamscape - and, beside him, the sleeping demon relaxed a little more, subconsciously aware of the safety his mate was broadcasting towards him. _I love you, I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this. There's a little artwork that goes along with it on my instagram. Find me lurking on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/heycaricari/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heycaricari), and [Tumblr](https://heycaricari.tumblr.com/) @heycaricari. Please engage me in conversation. It helps the procrastination go faster.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me lurking on [IG](https://www.instagram.com/heycaricari/), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/heycaricari), and [Tumblr](https://heycaricari.tumblr.com/) @heycaricari


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